The Game of Life
by kaydi
Summary: The Newsies all had stories, stories of pain and suffering, of hunger and weariness, stories of how they came to be poor orphans on the streets of New York. This is only one.
1. Hunble beginings

1 The Game of Life  
  
1.1 Hello, everyone! I'm taking a breath from the never-ending task of rewriting My Name is Sirius Black, and venturing into realm of Newsies, a great movie full of funny bits and a moving plot line.  
  
1.2 My favorite character is Racetrack, he just appeals to me so much. And I felt he was just dying for a story. Needless to say, once I thought of it, the idea refused to leave me alone until I had it down on paper and so this story was born.  
  
1.3 I'm working on one more that deals with Race's son and WW1, but that won't be out for a bit, not until I get this one out. Then, I should be back on Black, ( cookies for anyone who gets the reference) but until then, please enjoy.  
  
1.4  
  
1.5 **************************************************************************** ***********************************  
  
I have been one acquainted with the night.  
  
I have walked out in rain --and back in rain.  
  
I have outwalked the furthest city light.  
  
I have looked down the saddest city lane.  
  
I have passed by the watchman on his beat  
  
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.  
  
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
  
When far away an interrupted cry  
  
Came over houses from another street,  
  
But not to call me back or say good-bye;  
  
And further still at an unearthly height  
  
One luminary clock against the sky  
  
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.  
  
I have been one acquainted with the night.  
  
In 1899 the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of newsies. Pedalin' the papers of Joseph Pulitzer, William Randolph Hearst, and other giants of the newspaper world. On every corner you saw um carryin' the banner, bringing you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and runaways, the newsies were a ragged army, without a leader. Until one day...all that changed.  
  
They all had stories, stories of pain and suffering, of hunger and weariness, stories of how they came to be poor orphans on the streets of New York. This is only one.  
  
  
  
The name's Racetrack, Racetrack Higgins. Pleased to meet you. Now, you may have guessed that Racetrack is not my real name. No self- respected mother would name her kid Racetrack. But it suits me.  
  
Of course, this isn't exactly how I talk. I'm from New York, been here all my life and have the mouth to prove it. But when I write, something very different comes out. It's almost as if my hands and my mouth belong to two very different people.  
  
I've had an education, limited as it is. My mother taught me how to read and write and do basic mathematics, skills that have helped me a great deal. The rest of what I know I learned on the streets. You can't sell papes if you can't read the headline, and you can get cheated if you don't know how to count your papes when you buy them. Denton helped me with the spelling and grammar in this story, but the words are my own.  
  
My life ain't been easy, but whose has? The way I see it, life's a game of chance. Every time you make a decision, you roll the dice. You win some, you lose some. In my case, you lose quite a bit, but that doesn't stop me from gambling again. Besides, what does it matter how much money you make or where you're from when you have family? And I have a very large family. The Newsies.  
  
What's a newsie you ask? Here's my answer. What tiny nowheres-ville did you come from? The Newsies are what makes this city turn. We own this city. We sell the papers of the giant newspaper companies, Hearst, Pulitzer and the others. It may not seem that a bunch of kids may have a lot of power, but we do. Without us, no one knows what is going on. We found that out that summer, when Jack pushed us all to the limits of our imaginations.  
  
But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. Maybe I should start at the beginning.  
  
I was born in Rome on October 31, 1883. That's right, Rome, Italy. The Rome. Now I know what you're wondering, what's a kid from Rome doing in Manhattan, selling papes for a lousy penny each? Hold your horses, I'm getting there.  
  
Well, my mother, Marinna Casella, grew up in the south of Italy, in a small coastal town called Positano. A town full of pleasant people, where you can smell the sea air, fresh and clean, not like the smoggy filthy air of the city. Where the water was so clear , you could see straight to the bottom. While the people were poor in money, they were rich in kindness and tradition. I had long wanted to visit this small wonderland my mother had described to me so many times. Still do, but to travel like that costs money that I don't and never will have.  
  
When she was about seventeen or eighteen, she journeyed up to Rome with her folks. There she met and fell in love with a British officer whose name she had long since forgotten. And when her family found out that little old me was on the way, they booted her out. She was left alone, penniless, and pregnant. After a few month's, she scrimped together enough to afford passage on a boat to America. Just before the ship left, I was born. She named me Anthony.  
  
When she arrived in New York, I was almost a month old. She was still penniless and could hardly speak a word of English. After she wandered the city for a day or two, begging for a bit of food to feed her son, a kindly Italian saw her, who understood her plight, and owned an apartment building. He took her in and bought her to his building in lower Manhattan. After a few weeks, she met a man a floor or two above her, an Irishman named Silas Higgins. They fell in love, which is odd given their different nationalities and the tension between the Italian and Irish, particularly in my area.  
  
Needless to say, our neighbors were hardly pleased and my mother and new father had to flee the area. They found a small apartment across the river in Queens. That is where I lived.  
  
Mama was a slight woman; she'd fallen ill soon after giving birth to me, I was told, and dark in features. She had long black hair that tumbled down her back, and dark laughing eyes. he'd always crack jokes, either in English or Italian, I could understand both, though English came easier. Pop did not speak it and Ma could constantly say things that sent me over onto the floor in hysterics, and gave Pop a look of extreme confusion. She was a tough old bird, very protective of me and very quick to defend me whenever anyone dared question my legitimacy or character.  
  
I remember once when I was about six years old. The area we lived in was predominately Irish, with few other nationalities. Although my father was Irish, I know he wasn't my real father, but he was all I ever had to fit the part, I had been born in Italy and looked the part. With my Mom's black hair and dark eyes, I stood out in the crowd of light skinned light haired children, both in my building and my neighborhood. I remember one night, coming home in tears because my best friend's mother had just told them they could not associate with me because "I was not one of them." My mother, furious, grabbed my hand and led me down the hall to the woman's apartment. There she proceeded to rave at the woman, in a curious mix of Italian and English. The woman slammed the door in her face, but not after my mother telling her she hate no right to not let her children play with who ever they wanted.  
  
"This it America!" she yelled, " It doesn't matter where you come from here!" Then she took me back and rocked me slowly back and forth until I fell asleep.  
  
Pop was a big man, with a fiery head of hair and a loud rolling laugh. I used to love to hear him laugh. Every night, when he got home from the factory, he would grab me and put me up on his shoulders, while grabbing Ma and sweeping her into a tight hug. He would laugh then, loud and long, so glad to be home, and we were so glad to have him back that we wouldn't care that he was dirty or sweaty. And no matter how cold it was, he would always take me out at look at the stars late at night. Sometimes, Ma would go with us and he'd point out the brightest star he could find and say, " It's all yer's, Marinna. Only foir youse." She'd smile and act like he'd just given her the world.  
  
I, not wanting to be left out, would climb on his lap and ask, "Which one's me star, Pop?" And he'd smile and say a very simple phrase that meant the world to me.  
  
"Take yer pick, Tony. Ya can have any star ya want, as long as ya reach." And I'd run to the edge of the roof, and climb on the rail and stretch out my hand as far as it would go, trying to capture my own little twinkling star.  
  
He loved those evenings when it was just the three of us. But there was only one thing in the world he loved as much as Mama and me. The races.  
  
Now I should say that my father had been disowned by his parents when he wasted his money gambling on the races at Sheepshead Bay. Before this, he had been rather wealthy, not rich, but not poor either. As a newly married husband and an instant father, he forced himself to forget his addictive habit and find a stable job to support his new family. But every once and a while, he would come home and pick me up in his arms, and whisper, " How would ya like ta visit da horses, Tony?" I would nod energetically and Ma would sigh and roll her eyes, muttering something in Italian before allowing us to go.  
  
"No gambling Silas, you promised. And don't let Tony near those horrid jockeys." What she didn't know is that while there, my father would converse with the jockeys, trying to figure out which was the safest bet and the whole time, he would sit me on his knee while they laughed and cheered on their favorite. Afterwards, Pop would take me into the stables and the jockeys would let me feed the horses.  
  
Sometimes, he'd let me pick the horse we were betting on and I would cheer and wave my hat just as energetically as the full-grown men beside me. And if my horse won, he'd lift me high on his shoulders and we'd parade home, showing our winnings off to Mama. She would smile proudly as I described to her in great detail how the horse had pulled through in the last leg, even if it had never happened. Pop would never say a word, but would watch us and grin.  
  
When I was six, I began to spend time at the races by myself. After school, I would head over to Sheepshead and watch in fascination as the horses ran. A few older jockeys took a liking to me as they saw me there with my father and later by myself enough. Sometimes, they would place small penny bets for me on the horses they knew would win and give me the penny or two that I had earned. I felt very proud of myself the day I brought home a whole dollar. Mama didn't like it at first, but Pop persuaded her.  
  
"It's just a race, Marinna, it can't hoit him." Then she would sigh and smile. As long as I was home in time for my chores, she let me go. On my sixth birthday, she gave me her father's pocket watch.  
  
"It came with me all the way from Italy, Tony, just like you. Take good care of it." I promised. I still got the damn thing, though it stopped working years ago. I don't got the money to get it fixed.  
  
Yes, we had a perfect life, or so it would seem. When I was about eight or nine, I noticed Mama did not sing in the kitchen anymore. She constantly rubbed her forehead as if it hurt and developed a deep hacking cough. Pop became worried, but she insisted it was fine.  
  
Soon, I stopped going to the small neighborhood school and helped Mama get the housework done. Sometimes, I went out in the street across the river to shine a few shoes or carry a few groceries, anything to make a few extra pennies.  
  
Her condition only worsened over the course of the winter. She lie in bed, racked with a cough that send her into convulsions. Her fever soared and she often mumbled nonsense while she tossed and turned on their small bed. We could hardly afford money for a doctor, so when we had saved enough, we sent for one. He shook his head and gave Pop a sorry look.  
  
Mama died on my tenth birthday. We buried her quietly, in a cemetery nearby. I am sorry to say that her death broke my father. He no longer went to work and I did my best, but some days I could hardly get him out of bed.  
  
Pop was not as energetic or excited. He no longer wanted to take me to the racetracks. Instead, he lie in bed while I fixed him some hot tea. He died six days after she did, leaving me quite alone in the world.  
  
I remember that morning. It was foggy and cold, the wind was whistling through the cracks in the wall we could no longer afford to have covered. I crawled over to Pop's bed and shook him. He seemed very cold and he didn't move.  
  
"Pop?" I called, "Pop, get up!" But he wouldn't. I curled up next to him and began to cry. A neighbor found me a few hours later and called the police. 


	2. A very different world and new friends a...

Chapter two  
  
This chapter should be longer than the last. I do have all this finished, and should be uploading the rest in the next couple of days.  
  
Please read and review, any feedback would be great.  
  
Newsies do not belong to me. only to Disney. Too bad. *Pouts*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In one week, I had lost both my parents and was now facing the biggest tribulation of my young life. With only a small bag of belongings, I was seated in a police carriage and on my way to my Uncle's house.  
  
My Uncle Matthew, whom I had never met but had heard my father talk about plenty of times, usually with a curse word or two in front of the name. He had inherited the family money and turned it into a fortune. He lived in Trenton in a big house, bigger than any I had ever seen.  
  
A tall thin man, dressed in a black suit ushered the policeman and myself into a richly decorated sitting room. I felt nervous about sitting in the plush arms chair he offered me. I had never been in anywhere that looked remotely like this.  
  
"This is the boy then?" A cold voice broke through to me as I spun around to see a man who looked nothing like my father. He was taller and thinner, while my father had been stocky. His hair was a dirty blond and his eyes held none of the kindness I'd seen in my fathers.  
  
"This is Anthony Higgins, sir." He glared at me and curled his lip in disgust. I glared back, letting him see that even at ten, I couldn't be cowed.  
  
"Thank you, officer." The policeman left and I found myself alone with the man my father had called brother.  
  
There was a thick silence in the room as he watched me, glaring at me.  
  
"So you're the little bastard my brother adopted. You take after your mother." I said nothing, glaring back.  
  
"Now listen here, you little street rat," he hissed, leaning close to me and growling into my face. " If you pull one stunt, make one mistake, embarrass me one time, it's off to the orphanage with you. And there you won't get regular meals or a warm bed. Now, do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Yeah." I answered. He looked horrified.  
  
"Yeah? That is street talk, boy. There will be none of that in this house. Say, yes sir."  
  
"Yeah mista." I gave him my best grin and twisted my accent to make it thicker. In an instant, the left side of my face exploded in pain and I found myself on the floor, nursing a bruised cheek. He stood over me and grabbed my shirt collar.  
  
"I warned you boy." He hissed and shook me before throwing me to the floor and summoning the butler. This began the worst two years of my life.  
  
Strangely, it was the first and only time I have ever had real money, the first time I rode in a carriage instead of the back of one, when I'd had clean clothes everyday, a large meal, a warm bed. And yet, I was miserable.  
  
My Uncle forced me to lesson my accent everyday, but I couldn't. That was just how I was and how I spoke. He'd hit me if I did anything wrong. I remember once, after a dinner party in which I'd spoken out of turn, he went after me with his walking stick.  
  
I was dressed up and paraded around like some little doll. Eventually, he prohibited me from even speaking, as it would give my origins away.  
  
The only release I got was when the house was asleep and I would creep down to the kitchens. The cook had a son about my age, named James, a good- natured boy with a knack for things that weren't exactly good for him. Poker, for instance. He taught me how to play poker, blackjack, and just about every other card game there was. And I was good. Every time we bet something, I won, by luck or by bluffing.  
  
The last straw came on my twelfth birthday. It was bound to happen sooner or later. I was going stir crazy. It was a simple fact, I was bored. And when Racetrack Higgins gets bored, people need to look out.  
  
I remember that it rained. It rained all that day and I was trapped inside, with only my memories to keep me company. Downstairs, I could hear shouting as my Uncle prepared for some fancy-shmancy dinner he was having. As usual, I would be in my room, keeping as silent as I could.  
  
As the evening progressed, I became more and more hungry. Finally, I risked it by sneaking down the steps and hurrying to the kitchens to grab something to eat. However, my timing couldn't have been more off.  
  
As I slipped down the steps, my Uncle and his guests were making their way across the front hall from the dining room to the drawing room. I found myself face to face with several rich members of high society.  
  
The women looked at me with interest, the men with curiosity and my Uncle with distain.  
  
"Who is this, Matthew?" one rather overweight man chuckled.  
  
"This is, " he paused, " my nephew." It seemed to take a long time for him to admit it.  
  
"Silas's son?" someone asked. He nodded.  
  
"Sadly, my brother and his wife passed away two years ago. I took the boy in for there was no one else he had in the world." A tall woman with a large amount of feathers on her dress, that frankly, made her look quite ridiculous, approached me and knelt in front of me.  
  
" Oh, you poor dear. What's your name?"  
  
" Anthony, Miss." She paused and stared at me.  
  
"Anthony, that's an Italian name, isn't it?" I shrugged.  
  
"Dunno, Miss."  
  
"That's enough. Why don't you go back to your room?" My Uncle motioned up the stairs. An idea crept into my mind and I plastered a puppy dog look on my face.  
  
"But it's scary up dere! I's all alone and it's dark! I'se scared!" I cried, attaching myself around his legs. He tried to pry me off, but I wouldn't let him. Finally, he grabbed my arms, politely excused himself and dragged me up the stairs. He threw me into my room and pulled the door shut behind him.  
  
"What do you think you were doing?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and twisting painfully.  
  
"I wusn't doin' nuttin!" I growled back. He slapped me hard. As he did so, I fell and he jerked my arm painfully. A sharp burning pain shot up my right arm just after I heard the strange popping sound. He threw me to the ground and kicked out, sending spasms of pain through my chest.  
  
He didn't let up, not for a long time. It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Finally, he stopped and I heard him slam the door on his way out. Downstairs, the murmur of voices rose again. Slowly, I maneuvered myself into a sitting position, ignoring the sharp pains that were running all up and down my sides and arm.  
  
Slowly, I managed to place all my belongings, the few clothes I owned, the few photos and knick-knacks, into a pillowcase and tied the end. Then, I washed my face, getting rid of any blood, ripped up a piece of cloth for a sling and opened the window. I was lucky that my window opened up onto the back and that the back porch was directly beneath it. I slipped down and sped off into the night.  
  
I couldn't run far and I knew I wouldn't get far before he called the bulls on me. slowly, I made my decision and walked towards the train yards.  
  
After checking to make sure no one was around, I threw my bag into an open train car and slipped inside. I ducked down behind some crates and fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
I woke up to someone shaking my shoulder. I winced and opened my eyes. Then I groaned. A copper was standing over me a grim look on his face.  
  
"What are you doing, kid?" I shook my head. But he wouldn't let me past.  
  
"Do you know it's illegal to ride these trains without a ticket?" I nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I know. But I ain't got no money." He sighed and nodded.  
  
"Don't let it happen again. " Then he let me go. I crawled, nursing my injured shoulder. To my delight, I saw the skyline of New York. I was home.  
  
I made my way out of the train yards and through the city, loving the scents, sights, and sounds. But my stomach got the better of me. I realized I hadn't eaten in over two days and I needed food now. I saw a small fruit stand and the busy owner. I walked by quickly, snatching an apple as I went by. Then I took off running.  
  
To my dismay, I heard the sounds of, "Stop, thief!" And the whistle that summons the bulls behind me. I ran faster, but my wounds wouldn't let me. Needless, to say, they caught me. They healed me up, but just enough.  
  
I remember court. They brought me in and brought me right up to the judge.  
  
"What is your name, boy?" I paused.  
  
"Antonio." I answered, in a small voice that made me sound much younger than my ten years.  
  
"Antonio what?"  
  
"Antonio Casella, sia." I answered. It wasn't my real name, but it was close enough. It wasn't safe to give my real name, as my Uncle was sure to be looking for me.  
  
"You have been charged with theft and resisting arrest, Antonio, do you understand the penalties for this crime?"  
  
"I wus starvin', sia! It wus jist a' apple!" But he wasn't moved by my face or fake tears. Suddenly, a plump man with cold eyes and white hair stepped up beside me.  
  
"I'll speak for this boy, your honor." He had a cold voice that I didn't like. "I recommend that he be placed in the House of Refuge until the end of his sentence." Now, at the time I didn't know what this House of Refuge was, but I knew I didn't like it.  
  
"Alright, Warden. Antonio Casella, I sentence you to four months confinement for theft and resisting arrest."  
  
This man, whose name was Snyder, I later found out, was the warden at the House of Refuge, a jail for kids. He was present at the sentencing of every kid brought in off the street and made sure he was brought into the Refuge so he could pocket the profits. He was far more a thief than I'd ever be.  
  
The Refuge was a system of bells, each sounding to tell us something new, bells for meals, for sleep, for work, to line up to be counted, bells for everything. Our rooms were small and crowded, our beds hard wooden planks that could hold five or six boys, and were extremely rickety. All we had were a few thin blankets to share between us. There might have been twenty or thirty boys in the four months I was there. My arm and ribs, turned out two of them had been broken, healed quickly, but not fast enough for me.  
  
I made friends quickly. The first night I was there, we had twenty minutes before bed to relax and talk. Having no one to talk to, I opened my bag and pulled out my cards. Silently, on my bed, I dealt out the cards, planning on a game of solitaire. I silently thanked James for teaching me. As I began I felt a shift on the bed and I glanced up. A small boy was watching me, looking intently at the cards.  
  
"Ya want sumdin?" I asked. He had the largest blue eyes I'd ever seen, a mop of brown hair and a childish face. He continued to watch me. I shook my head and continued. Slowly, I noticed a few other boys approach. I glared up at them. Then the first young boy spoke.  
  
"Whutcha doin'?"  
  
"Playin' solitaire." I told him.  
  
"How do ya play?" I grinned, and motioned him closer.  
  
"What's yer name, kid?"  
  
"Sammy." He said shyly.  
  
"Sammy, da name's Tony. Now I'm going to tell youse how ta play dis game. It aint so hard." Slowly, I explained the rules.  
  
"Dat sounds borin'. Ya know anytin' else?" I nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I knows lots a games." He grinned too.  
  
"Would ya teach us?" There came a small round of agreement from the other boys. I nodded slowly.  
  
"Any a youse know how ta play poka?" I asked. Several shook their heads, but a few nodded. I shuffled the cards. "Ya up for a game?" A tall boy agreed and we dealt. By the time Snyder came to send us to bed, I had won three twenty-five cents and two rolls. As soon as the alarm sounded that the warden was on his way, I hid my winnings and my cards in my bag and pretended to fall asleep. In reality, I was up very late that night.  
  
I looked at the full moon through the bared windows, knowing sadly that I'd exchanged one prison for another. I missed my parents terribly. I missed the streets more than anything. I know most people couldn't wait to get away from the streets of New York, but they were my home. I felt at peace there. And I wanted to go back more than anything. I sighed and tried to go to sleep, only to have the small boy from earlier roll into me and curl up in my arm. I shook my head and watched the moon rise.  
  
The next morning, I taught the younger boys to play poker. My jokes and laughing won me a place in the hearts of the children, though I wasn't too much older than them. My smug attitude and quick mouth made me a good deal closer to the older boys. They loved to tease me and bet each other on my talents. I never turned down a bet, even if it resulted in me spending two weeks in solitary confinement.  
  
I loved the younger ones. I would tease them and play with them constantly. One night about a month after I'd arrived, Jimmy, crawled into my bed late at night.  
  
"I can't sleep, Tony. Tell me a story." I groaned.  
  
"Not now, Sammy. I'se tired."  
  
"But Tony…" he cried. I sighed and sat up.  
  
"Fine, come 'era." He crawled up next to me and I sighed, looking for anything to put him to sleep.  
  
"Whudda ya wanna hear?"  
  
"Do ya rememba your Ma and Pa?" he asked. I nodded.  
  
"Where is dey?"  
  
"Dead." I answered shortly.  
  
"So's mine. They came from Ireland. Where did yours come from?" I sighed.  
  
"Me Ma came from Italy." I told him.  
  
"Is it pretty dere?" I nodded and grinned.  
  
"So pretty. Da hills jist go on foreva. She lived in a little town jist on da sea. On a cliff."  
  
"A cliff?" I nodded, finding my story.  
  
"Yeah, a cliff. Da town's built right inta da cliff. Dey haveta climb down dese steep steps to get to dere boats everyday." That night I told him everything I could remember my mother ever telling m about Italy. It put him and the rest, who had gathered around, asleep very late.  
  
I became bored easily and planned all kinds of daring stunts. Snyder hated me and I often went to bed hungry, only to have the boys sneak something to me. I could never keep my mouth closed, even when it was for my own good.  
  
My tricks constantly got my sentence extended, until my four months had been extended to seven. I had been there only four, when my whole world was tossed upside down by the arrival of a new inmate.  
  
We were seated in the dining room, when Snyder stood up and announced that we had a new inmate today. I noticed the tall boy in the western hat right away. His hair was a dirty blond and his eyes held a strange intensity to them, even at the age of thirteen. That night, he was assigned to my bunk. He threw his things down in my usual spot.  
  
I shook my head, even if he was new, it was time he learned.  
  
"Whut do youse tink yer doin'? I asked, glaring at him. He must have thought it crazy, a short Italian staring him down.  
  
"I'se going ta bed. Dat's allowed, ain't it?" he said. I glared back.  
  
"Sure, it's fine. Jist get your stuff outta my spot."  
  
"And who says it's yours, shorty?" he grinned. Most of the other boys had gathered around us and were watching.  
  
"Da name's Tony. And you?" I raised my eyebrows. He paused. He seemed hesitant to tell us his name.  
  
"Da name's Sullivan." He answered.  
  
"Sullivan? Ya look like a cowboy ta me." I laughed, pointing at his hat and bandana. He glared at me.  
  
" Look, Tony 'era, he's jist foolin' widcha. He likes ta mess wid da new guys." Jimmy said, trying to make peace.  
  
"Well, ya ain't messin wid me." he growled. I didn't answer, but shoved his things off my bed, glaring at him the whole time. In an instant, he'd launched himself at me and we were tumbling around the room. I didn't really know what I was doing, only that he was bigger than me, and I could still hurt him.  
  
Snyder pulled us apart an instant later and dragged the both of us to his office.  
  
"Casella! This has gone too far! I had expected you to at least welcome the new boy before attacking him. Your sentence has been extended one more month!"  
  
I stared at him, "Audder month? But Warden, dat ain't fair!"  
  
"I'm not interested in what you think is fair, Casella! And Sullivan," he glared at the cowboy. "I am very disappointed in you. Fighting on your first day. Your sentence has also been extended one month."  
  
His face twisted into the same look mine wore.  
  
"But I didn't do nuttin'!"  
  
"Like hell, ya didn't." I growled. He glared back.  
  
"Casella!" he warned me, then he grabbed our collars and marched us both up to the solitary confinement chamber, throwing the both of us inside.  
  
"Make your peace, or kill each other!" he growled before slamming the door. I slowly picked myself up off the floor, glaring at Sullivan, who shook the door, like he was going to tear it off the hinges. I sat down on the hard bed.  
  
"Don't bodda. It's solid." He glared at me.  
  
"It's your fault we'se 'era in da foist place." I shoo my head.  
  
"Listen, cowboy. You'se new. Yous'e dunno how dis place woiks. I'se been here long enough ta know." There was a long silence, as he sat down next to me. Neither of us looked at each other for a long time.  
  
"How long?" he asked quietly. I glanced at him.  
  
"How long what?"  
  
"How long ya been 'era?" I though carefully.  
  
"Four months." He gazed open mouthed at me and I smiled. "What I wouldn't give for a smoke right now, how bout you?" I asked, grinning at him. He smiled back.  
  
"Why don't we start ova? Me name's Sullivan, Francis Sullivan." I grinned.  
  
"Anthony Higgins." I held out my hand and he shook it.  
  
"I thought your name wus Casella." I smiled and glanced away. What had possessed me to give my real name I had no idea. I had never told anyone my name and here I was, telling a perfect stranger.  
  
"Da foist ting ya gotta loin is, neva give yer real name. Almost all of us got da bulls afta us fer somdin'." There was a long pause.  
  
"So whudda you's in for?" I asked. He shrugged.  
  
"Stealin'." I nodded.  
  
"Me too." There was another long silence.  
  
"Ya know," I said, " Francis, it don't suit ya. I's going to call ya Cowboy." He grinned.  
  
"I ain't no cowboy."  
  
"But ya look like one, derefore dat's your new name."  
  
"Cowboy." He said, "I like it." he smiled at me and somehow I knew that this boy was going to change my life. I didn't know how right I was.  
  
We spent two days in there. We told each other stories of our lives before and what we wanted to do afterwards. I found out his grandfather, Jack Kelly, owned a ranch out west and he wanted to go visit. He was the only one I'd ever told about my parents and my Uncle.  
  
After we got out, we spent all our waking hours together. I showed him the rules, and the other boys. I always wondered if he felt strange being shown the ropes by a kid a year younger than himself.  
  
The name Cowboy stuck, and soon we were all calling him that. He took it in good stride, and soon the two of us were inseparable. We were best friends, nothing could break us apart. Cowboy, as I called him, was constantly challenging me and betting on things. I'd laugh and do the same.  
  
One day, after about six months later, Snyder informed us that we were having a very important visitor, Teddy Roosevelt, the governor! He was coming to see that we were well treated and happy. And he warned us that if one of us so much as opened his mouth that we would regret it more than anything else we'd ever done.  
  
All the boys discussed the coming visit with great anticipation. Some of the boys who had been there longer said this was an annual visit, and that it wasn't a big deal. But we felt otherwise.  
  
Finally, the big day came and we had been washed, cleaned, and fed, and were waiting outside in the warm summer air, awaiting the arrival of the governor.  
  
When the carriage pulled up and he stepped out, I was in awe. I stared at a tall larger man with kind eyes and a laughing face. He smiled at us and shook Snyder's hand.  
  
"Good morning, Warden." Snyder seemed even more nervous than ever as the governor approached us. He patted Jimmy on the head along with a few other boys, then shook a few hands. I gazed at Cowboy, who was standing one line back. He was eyeing the open gate. I glanced at it too and an idea crept into the back of my mind. I leaned back and whispered to him,  
  
"I bet you can't make it out." He grinned.  
  
"You're on!" I grinned, and suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced back and was shocked to see the governor smiling down at me.  
  
I am short, less than five and a half feet, but at this time I was still well under five feet, and this man was huge. He stared down at me, then took my hand.  
  
"What's your name, son?" For a moment, I was speechless. The governor was talking to me!  
  
" An- Antonio, sia." But then I began to get some of my old nerve back and I grinned, "But everyone calls me Tony."  
  
"Glad to meet you, Tony." He said. "And how old are you?"  
  
"Twelve." I answered.  
  
"My, you're quite the little man, aren't you?" I smiled again. I couldn't help it. " Now tell, me Tony, does the warden treat you well? Gives you food to eat and a place to sleep?" I paused and glanced at the warden. He was giving me a death glare. I knew that if I didn't answer correctly, I'd be in for it.  
  
The governor must have noticed my pause and frowned. But I answered quickly. " It's better dan starvin' on da streets." He smiled again and patted my head before moving on. I let out a sigh of relief, but not before Jimmy tapped me on the shoulder.  
  
"Tony, whut's Cowboy doin'?" I turned to see him sneaking around the gate, and slipping behind the carriage of the governor. I grinned, he waved as the carriage pulled out. I waved back and laughed. Sure I owed him, but he had gotten out.  
  
As soon as we were back inside, we were counted up again. Snyder's face turned bright red when he realized Cowboy was missing. He was furious and marched up and down the rows, looking ready to kill.  
  
"Where is Sullivan?" he roared. No one said a word. He approached me and grabbed a hold of my collar. He knew that one of us always knew where the other was.  
  
"Casella, where is he?" I shrugged. He let me go, only to grab his walking stick and strike me with it. I was down in an instant, covering my face as he hit me again and again. The boys watched in horror, I'm sure, but all I could see was red.  
  
Snyder struck me again, screaming at me to tell me where my friend was, but I kept my mouth closed. After he got tired, he ordered me dragged up to solitary confinement. I was thrown to the floor, hardly able to move, and ordered to stay there until I was ready to cooperate.  
  
Slowly, I raised myself into a sitting position. Every bone in my body hurt and I curled up on the bed, wincing as I pulled my legs in to warm myself. Jimmy came by a few hours later to push my things and Francis's things through the small grate in the door. I thanked him wearily, before falling asleep.  
  
I awoke not to long after to a soft tapping on my window. I sat up quickly and winced, remembering the harsh beating. I shook my head and wondered what had awoken me.  
  
"Hey, Tony." Came a much remembered and worried voice. I spun around to see Francis, hanging in front of my window.  
  
"Cowboy!" I hurried to the window and peered at him through the bars.  
  
"Get yer stuff, we're bustin' oudda 'era!" I nodded and quickly gathered up my things and handed them to him through the bars. He in turn, handed them to someone on the roof.  
  
"But how's ya going' ta get the window open?" I asked, trying to keep my voice down.  
  
"Don't worry bout dat," he whispered, grinning, " I's gots me da best escape artist in the city. " Then he was pulled up and another boy was lowered in his place. He was skinny and small, that was all I could tell at the moment as he tipped his hat.  
  
"Spot Conlon," he whispered.  
  
"Tony Higgins." I answered, grinning at him. "So you'se going to get me oudda 'era?" He grinned and took a small pry bar from someone above. In an instant, he'd pried the bars straight off the wall and handed them to me. I laid them on the bed and waited until they lowered the rope for me to grab. I winced again as the rope cut into my beaten body, but I told myself that I was getting out for there and never going back. When I'd reached the top, we took off running over the rooftops and down the fire escapes until we'd vanished from the sight of that awful place. I couldn't run very fast and so began to slow down.  
  
"Come on, Tony!" Francis hissed. I tried, but found I could hardly move another step.  
  
"I can't, Cowboy. It hoits too much." I felt faint and he took a quick detour. Slipping an arm under my shoulder, we made our way down an alley and through the back door of a rather large vaudeville hall. I watched in surprise, as Francis handed me to Spot and hurried inside. After a few minutes, he was back, an older woman all in pink with him. She took one look at me and ushered the three of us in.  
  
"Nah, I's gots ta get back ta Brooklyn." Spot said, and after shaking hands with us, he vanished into the night. That was my introduction to Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies.  
  
Francis pulled me inside and introduced me to Medda Larkson, "The greatest star of Vaudeville stage." Instantly, she began to nurse me, first bringing me a glass of cold milk and some food.  
  
"You poor kids, why you must be starving." She said as I inhaled the food before me. " I'll get you something a bit more filling. You want something, Jack?" she asked. Cowboy shook his head and she left.  
  
He smiled at me and slipped into the chair next to me. "Not bad, eh Tony?"  
  
"She called ya Jack." I said. He shifted.  
  
"Yeah, I decided it might be bedda ta change it. Da name's Jack Kelly now." I smiled.  
  
"It suits ya bedda, but I'se still going to call ya Cowboy." We laughed and I was reminded of my injuries in full. I winced and held my chest. Jack knelt down beside me in an instant.  
  
"Whut happened?" he asked, worriedly. I shook my head.  
  
"Snyder, he's jist got a little mad, dat's all. Bout ya escapin' and everytin'."  
  
"So he went afta you?" I nodded.  
  
"Thought I knew where youse wus." Jack's fists clenched, just as Medda reentered. She gave a small gasp of surprise when she saw me on the floor. Jack stood up and spoke to her. Then she knelt down side me and slowly helped me take off my jacket and shirt. She gasped when she saw the state of my chest. I winced at the large blue, purple and black bruises covering me. Jack frowned, but he didn't say anything.  
  
"What kind of a monster could do that?" she whispered as she gave me some ice and a clean shirt. I felt so tired. I was practically falling asleep sitting up. Medda must have seen this because she ordered both Jack and myself into her spare bedroom.  
  
"You two will sleep here tonight." I had no objections. As we crawled into bed, Jack smiled at me.  
  
"Thanks foa getting' me oudda dere." I whispered. He shook his head.  
  
"Hey, we'se friends, ain't we?" I nodded. We spit shook and drifted off to sleep. 


	3. Strike

Well, here's the next part. In this part Race meets the newsies and I have included his pov on the strike. So we have a nice long chapter.  
  
Nothing belongs to me, not even Race, wah. Please read and review.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The next morning dawned sunny and fresh. I smiled as Jack and I wandered the streets, looking for a fresh new start. We had no money, and nowhere to sleep, and yet we'd never been happier. Jack told me about how he'd met Spot while wandering around lost.  
  
"Gave me sumdin' ta eat and listened ta me. When I told him bout ya, he said he'd help me." But it was plain we couldn't go back. We weren't Brooklyn boys.  
  
It was almost night when we met our next new twist of fate. Both of us were hungry and willing to do anything. That's when a voice welcomed us into the world of the newises.  
  
"Extry, extry! Read all about it! Runaway carriage kills toddla!" the boy's voice echoed over the street. I looked over. He didn't seem much older than me with blond hair and a patch over his left eye. Jack and exchanged looks as the boy sold his last paper and headed off, not before spotting us.  
  
We made our way over to him and smiled. He grinned back. "Ya want sumdin'?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, we wus wonderin' ya know a place where we can grab sumtin' ta eat, and maybe sleep?" he nodded.  
  
"Sure, but ya gotta be a newsie. Dey's always looking' fer new boys. Ya interested?" Instantly, I nodded. Jack hesitated, but then gave his agreement.  
  
"Da name's Kid Blink." He said, shaking first my hand then Jack's.  
  
"My name's Jack Kelly, but everybody calls me Cowboy, and dis 'ere is Anthony Higgins." He glanced at me.  
  
"You gotta nick?" I shook my head.  
  
"People, dey jist calls me Tony." Now Kid Blink shook his head.  
  
"Ya's gots at have a nick. Tony ain't going to cut it. but it'll woik fer now." He led us down a small side street to a large brick building. A sign reading Newsboys Lodging house, in big yellow letters was hung outside. Kid Blink stepped inside and we followed. I noticed the large amount of boys gathered in the hall and on the stairs. They all watched us and spoke quietly. Kid Blink stepped up to the counter and spoke with an older man.  
  
"Dese boys need a place for da night. Can dey stay 'ere? Dey's going to be woikin' in da morning." The old man nodded.  
  
"Sure, but you'se gotta get up wid de udda boys." Jack and I agreed. He introduced us to the old man, who told us to call him Kloppman.  
  
Then he led us around, introducing us to all the other boys, Mush, a naive boy with a kind smile, Skittery, a jokester who was sometimes moody, and all the others, Snitch, Jake, Itey, Snipshooter, Specs, Dutchy, Snoody, Bumlets, Pie eater, Swifty and the rest.  
  
That night I slept in the bunk under Kid Blink's while Jack was one beside me. For the first time since I was nine years old, I felt at home.  
  
But morning came far too soon. I groaned and yanked the covers over my head when Kloppman shook me. Finally, I crawled out of bed and made my way to the showers. I was still half asleep as we made our way to the distribution station just as the sun was coming up. Kid Blink came up and stuffed a dime in my hands.  
  
I stared at him. "Ta buy yer papes." He said. "Ya can pay me back when ya get some dough." I nodded and bought twenty papes from a fat dirty man behind the counter the boys had dubbed Weasel. He eyed me but gave me my papes.  
  
Then Jack and I split up. "See ya's tonight." He said, "Good luck." I nodded and made my way down the street. I eyed the headline, High Society businessman caught in scandal with vaudeville star. I smiled, this could be my lucky day.  
  
I knew just where to go. I'd talked with the boys that morning and discovered that while there where newsies everywhere, there were none at the Sheepshead Races. And so I made my way down there, catching a ride on the back of a cart.  
  
When I found myself at the races, I jumped off and positioned myself at the entrance where people were sure to see me. then I began to call out the headlines.  
  
By ten I had sold my last paper, and I had fifty cents in my pockets, from the papes and tips. But I had nothing to do. I was planning on meeting Jack at noon and I had several hours to kill. I made my way inside and watched the races for some time before slowly approaching the betting booth. I eyed the odds carefully, before placing twenty-five cents on a horse named Golden Lighting. The odds weren't great, but I had a feeling.  
  
By noon I was walking back to the restaurant Kid Blink told me about with almost three dollars in my pocket. I walked in grinning. Jack waved me over and I slid in beside him.  
  
"Whudda ya grinnin' bout?" Mush asked me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the three dollars I'd made. The boys looked in awe.  
  
"Ya made dat? Da foist day?" Jack asked. I laughed.  
  
"Nah, I bet on a few races and I wus lucky. Dat's all."  
  
"Ya went all the way outta Sheepshead?" Kid Blink asked, his eyes widening. I nodded. " I neva doughta dat. Da races would be a great place at sell." I shook my head.  
  
"Da racetrack's mine." Jack laughed.  
  
"Don't mess wid him when he says sumdin's his." He and I shared a laugh.  
  
Then Blink smiled. " I jist thought a da perfect nick fer ya!" I stared at him. "Racetrack!"  
  
"Racetrack." I whispered, smiling. Racetrack Higgins. I nodded. I liked it. And from that day forth, that was my name and I responded to no other.  
  
But that ain't the end of my story, not by a long shot. It would be four years before the event that really brought us all together.  
  
Those four years passed in a routine of much the same, though they didn't lack in moments of excitement or danger. But as poor as we were, none of us went to bed hungry, no matter how late we got home, Kloppman always had something left out for us, we always had a warm bed, though sometimes we had to share when times got hard.  
  
Kloppman had a rule, if you walked through the doors, you paid for your bed. If you crawled through the window, you didn't. I made my way up the fire escape many nights.  
  
I fit in well with the newsies, though; I've often been called the cynic of the group. We all had our roles.  
  
Mush was the baby, with his young face and naivety and his habit of always looking on the bright side of things, everyone liked him and always babied him. Blink was the lady's man, always taking out some girl or another. Crutchy, our baby brother, who we looked out for, but avoided mention of his disability. He could usually manage fine without us. I was the smart ass, the cynical loud mouth that pretended to need no one, but did not fool his friends. And Jack, well, we'll get to Jack later.  
  
As different as we seemed, there was one thing that held us together, we were friends, and friends are something you need to survive in these harsh streets. Some boys refuse to admit that, they say that friends make you weak, that they give your enemies a way to hurt you. That to be alone makes you strong, makes you tough. But I say that's a loud of bullshit. If you are alone all your life, then you'll never learn to be anything but tough and bitter. I've known plenty of loners, myself included, and every one of them are stilling wandering the streets, many of them in dealings way over their heads.  
  
If you're not careful, this place, this city can consume you, suck you in and trap you. You begin to loose your dignity and do things your ma told you never to do. You become the man your pop pointed out on the street, begging for the spare change no one has, or is willing to give, to buy yourself one more beer so that you can forget. You become the man your parents warned you about. You become the man you ran away from, the man who hits his wife and kids, who makes her frightened to take the small amount you do bring home. I made myself a promise a long time ago that I would never be that man. I had seen far too many of my friends leave home because of it. Blink, Crutchy, even Jack. So far I've kept that promise.  
  
And what brought me through it all, it wasn't my own resolve. If that was it, I would still be in that small bar down by the docks, drowning my sorrows away. But no, Jack, and Blink, David, Mush, Spot, Crutchy, they all brought me home, and reminded me that I did have something to live for in the faces of four angelic children, sleeping safe and sound in their beds. That is what brought me through those times. Not me, not my strength, but the combined effort of my friends. Friends are necessary to survival.  
  
Yes the newsies were a family, and the size of that family would ebb and flow like the tide. Almost every newsie brought in a stray at some point. Jack came home about two weeks after we moved in with a young black shoe shiner, we instantly christened Boots. Others would come and go, but I liked Boots. He was only eight at the time and had recently lost his mother. Since most of us were orphans or runaways, and in some cases like mine, both, we could easily feel for him, though he quickly learned you would get no outward sympathy from the newsies.  
  
That was the golden rule. Stick together, be a family, but at the very heart of it, every newsie was interested in just one thing; his own future. Now if that meant sharing a room with twenty other boys and forging a bond of friendship that would last for longer than time itself, then all those boys were in the right place at the right time.  
  
I picked up a few strays too. The only one to stay, and the one we all grew to love, was Crutchy.  
  
It was maybe three months after my escape from the Refuge when I, on my way to the races, almost stumbled over a fight in the middle of the street. In a flash, I was across the road and pulling the two bigger boys off of the smaller one. The biggest one glared at me and grabbed my shirt, proving to be much taller and stronger than I.  
  
"Whudda dink youse doin'?" he grunted. I glared back.  
  
"I could ax da same a' youse." I told him.  
  
"Let's soak da little bum." The other bonehead growled. I frowned, then smirked.  
  
"Sure, go right ahead. Won't be 'sponsable when Spot comes afta ya." My growing friendship with Spot Conlon was enough to put off a good deal of my attackers. Though he was only fourteen at the time, Spot's power was growing. Brooklyn was the home of the poorest and toughest boys in the city. Brooklyn could be a powerful ally or a deadly enemy.  
  
"Youse one of Spot's boys?" the rough neck grunted again. I shrugged.  
  
"Yeah, I'se just taking a message ta da Manhattan boys."  
  
The gears in his head seemed to be turning as he still held me up in the air. Finally, he dropped me and the two boys vanished. I dusted myself off and held my hand out to the boy they'd been attacking.  
  
He was gangly with curly reddish hair and large brown puppy eyes. Those eyes were fixed on me now.  
  
"Hey kid." I held my hand out to him, but he didn't take it. "Wassa madda?" I asked.  
  
"Are youse really friends wid Spot Conlon?" his voice was quiet, an awed whisper. I laughed.  
  
"Yeah, but I ain't from Brooklyn. I'se from right here, in Manhattan. I jist happen ta know Spot. Anyway, ya need some help?" he shook his head and pointed to a wooden stick that had been thrown into an alley.  
  
"Can ya get me dat?" I nodded and handed it to him. He took it, placed it under his arm, and used it to get himself to his feet. I watched, frowning, not having realized he was a crip before, but not saying a word. He began to limp off before I thought to run after him.  
  
"Hey, where's ya going'?" he shrugged.  
  
"Dunno. Don't gots nowhere ta go." I smiled and held out my hand.  
  
"Racetrack Higgins." He grinned at my hand and took the outstretched hand.  
  
"Charly Robbins." He said. I noticed him eyeing the papes under my arm.  
  
"Whudda ya carryin' all dem papas foir?" he asked.  
  
"I'se a newsie." I told him, "I sell 'em fer a penny each. Wus jist on me way down dere when I ran inta youse." He looked genuinely interested and I grinned.  
  
"Is it hard?" I shook my head.  
  
"Watch." And with that, I took a deep breath, stepped away from him and wandered down the street, calling out the headline.  
  
"Mayor caught in doity dealin's! Been takin' bribes foir yeas!" People hurried to buy a pape and I quickly sold ten. I sauntered away, and hurried back to Charly, with ten cents in my pocket.  
  
"Wow! Is dat story true?" he asked, his large eyes wider. I laughed.  
  
"A' course." I showed him the article on page eight. Mayor of small town in Maine taking bribes from farmers.  
  
"but dat's lyin!" he gasped. I shook my head.  
  
"I ain't said nuttin dat ain't true. Besides, I'se gotta eat." And I gathered up my papes, preparing to head out for that track. He caught my sleeve.  
  
"Can I come widcha?" he asked. "Sell papas too?" I was about to say no, then I wondered how much this kid need the break, the same break someone had given me. Then I nodded.  
  
"Ya dink ya can make it all da way ta da tracks?" he nodded vigorously. I sighed, then smiled.  
  
"Well, da foist ding ya gotta loin, is dat headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes." I gave him the finer points on selling papes as we walked along. Soon I noticed him getting a little tired, we were still a ways from the tracks and, while I usually made the walk in about a half an hour, I was used to it. It even took Jack longer. Many times, I hitched a ride on a cart, and I decided this was the prefect plan. I spotted one, heading out towards the tracks and I quickly waved the driver to stop. Dragging Charly along side me, I whispered to him, "Look as pitiful as ya can."  
  
"Please, mista, can we bum a ride?" I begged him, putting all of my ability into it and forcing fake tears to well up in my eyes. He growled at us.  
  
"No free rides. Get lost, kids."  
  
"It's me ma!" I wailed, attracting a crowd. " She's havin' her baby, and me pop's out at da tracks! Me kid brudda, 'era, he can't walk all dat way! Please, mista!" I heard murmurs in the crowd, and I knew that if this man did not give us a ride, we would have several other offers. He was watching the crowd and knew the same thing. So he sighed and pointed to the back, where Charly and I climbed on. I laughed and patted him on the back, while he smiled.  
  
When we got there, I quickly set him up in the entrance, giving him half my papes. I told him to look as pitiful as possible, and if no one seemed to be buying, to make up whatever headline he could. I headed off to sell my papes inside and when I returned a half an hour later, I found him happily counting the pennies he'd made.  
  
I grinned and we managed to bum a ride home from a kind old gentlemen with a limp himself. I asked him to stop at the lodging house, then turned to Charley.  
  
" Ya gots a place?" he shook his head.  
  
"Nah, me ma's dead." I didn't ask about his father or the reason behind his mother's death. It was a simple don't ask, don't tell, policy that was strictly enforced. Instead, I led him up the steps and into the house, signing my name and telling Kloppman he had a new border.  
  
Kloppman agreed to help, finding him an old crutch someone had left there years ago, instead of the stick he'd been using. Charley seemed grateful as I led him upstairs to the bunk where he dropped his stuff near my bunk. Then we settled down for a quiet game of poker before the others arrived.  
  
As we sat, he inquired about my name. " Is yer name really Racetrack?" I nodded.  
  
"It is now. Every newsie has a nick, youse get yers soon." He nodded.  
  
"Yeah, I hate me name." I grinned at him over my cards.  
  
"Trust me, Charley ain't so bad. Anthony's woise." He looked up at me, surprised, but not for long as boys suddenly began to flood the room. I introduced Charley to everyone and as Jack took his hand, he stared at him.  
  
"Youse nick is Crutchy." He said. The kid looked surprised.  
  
"Why?" Jack pointed to the crutch under his arm.  
  
"Ya really use dat ding?" he nodded.  
  
"I ain't no fake!" Charley drew himself up to his full height and glared at Jack, who laughed.  
  
"Youse name is Crutchy so we'se member dat youse really a crip and so if anyone calls ya a fake, we can soak 'em good!" A slow smile spread over the face of the boy called Crutchy, and from then on, that was all he was.  
  
He soon found a selling spot of his own, and he hardly made the long trek to the tracks with me. Almost no one did. I liked it that way. I liked to sell alone. I was better that way, with no one to worry about but myself.  
  
That was just one incident in those four long years, one of many. Our lives were not without adventure or excitement. They were filled with daily escapades, and more often suffering. I went to bed hungry almost every night, even with the small meal Kloppman almost always left out for me. They were just never enough for a growing boy. I stood outside on Christmas Eve, selling my papes in the snow. I shivered in the freezing February wind without a coat. But I was happy. More happy than I'd been since my parents died.  
  
Jack was our unofficial leader at the time. It had never been proclaimed, that's simply how it was. It was just the accepted fact. Jack had a control about him that made him seem so put together and a cocky attitude that won him a place in the hearts of every newsie in Manhattan.  
  
I made fast and close friends with Kid Blink and Mush, and I would say that aside from Jack, they were my best friends. But we never sold together as other best friends did. I was always out at the races, alone. Every newsie had their turf and the others understood that. It was a simple balance. Sometimes, newsies would trade selling spots under mutual consent, just for a change. But I never did. The races were mine.  
  
I became well known and even met a few of the jockeys who had laughed with my father so many years ago. Not one of them put this short cocky sixteen-year-old Italian Racetrack Higgins, with the shy little Anthony Higgins who had come there so many years ago. And that was to my benefit.  
  
We spent our nights, when we were through with the evening edition, in Medda's dance hall. She let all the newsies in for free and we loved it. Afterwards, she'd bring us all back stage and give us plenty to eat. She would joke around with us and even play pranks on us. But more importantly, she was always there if we needed her. If we needed a place to stay for the night, if we'd gotten soaked, or if we just needed someone to talk to, she was there for us. She was kind of like our surrogate mother, I guess you could say.  
  
In those four years, I changed quite a bit. I grew, but not much. I was sixteen, on my own, and perfectly happy. The newsies stuck together, we were a family. If one of us got into trouble with the bulls, the others covered for him. We sought revenge for newises who had been soaked or otherwise hurt by rival gangs or the DeLancy brothers, two boneheads with egos the size of all the rest of New York put together. They worked for Weasel and sometimes sought out lonely newsies to have some fun. Of course, Jack had his fun with them every morning, and we cheered him on.  
  
The morning it all started, was like any other. We got up and made our way to the distribution station. Along the way, we met up with David Jacobs and his little brother Les. They were new, just started the day before. Jack had told me all about their run all over the city from Snyder the day before. I'd been on the roof smoking, when he walked up beside me.  
  
"Hey Cowboy." I said.  
  
"Hey Race. Sorry about the tracks." I shook my head.  
  
"Wasn't too bad. I didn't bet that much." He smiled and sat down beside me. I could tell he wanted to say something. I offered him my cigarette, my cigar of the day long gone when Snipeshooter pinched it. He took a long puff and sighed.  
  
"I ran into our old friend today." Instantly, I knew who he was talking about. Snyder.  
  
"Oh?" I asked, not wanting to sound too worried.  
  
"Don't worry, I lost him. but he's on the look out. We should lay low for a while." I nodded, though I knew we wouldn't.  
  
Jack looked much the same as he had at thirteen, though taller. But I looked nothing like the boy I had been. I had a new name, a new life, nothing to worry about. He slapped me on the shoulder.  
  
"We should get inside." I dropped my cigarette and we headed inside, and into bed.  
  
But the next morning, Kid was the first one to the station and when we arrived, he had horrible news.  
  
"Dey jacked up de price!" We stared at him, unable to understand what the hell he was talking about.  
  
"Whut? Whudda ya talkin' bout, Kid?" I asked.  
  
"Ten cents a hundred! I mean, it's bad enough we gotta eat what we don't sell! Now dey jacked up da price!" We couldn't believe it! I shook my head, this was going to break me! The other newsies had the same ideas. I pushed the image of back sleeping on the streets, stealing what I could to survive. I hated that. I never wanted to go back.  
  
Jack stomped down the steps, and sat down heavily. He shook his head and took the cigarette Blink offered him. We all pestered him for a moment, asking him what we were going to do until Les shoved some of the older boys out of the way and scolded us, telling us to "Let him think."  
  
It was a tense silence as Jack thought. I waited as long as I could before asking, "Jack, ya don't tinkin' yet?" He glared at me, then began to speak, slowly at first, but with growing confidence.  
  
"Well, listen. One thing's fer surah, if we don't sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Nobody comes trough dose gates until dey put da price back where it was." There was a strange muttering running through the crowd. I frowned. David spoke up just then.  
  
"What, like strike?"  
  
"Yeah, like a strike." We stared at him, amazed. A strike? What was he thinking?  
  
"Are ya odda your mind?" I asked him. But once Jack had an idea in his head, there was no stopping him. As much as David tried to talk him out of it, Jack marched us right out of those gates without any of us buying one pape. This idea was taking hold of all of us. Even David.  
  
He had the words, but Jack had the stamina and the voice to carry them off. We made our decision. Strike! Nobody sells one pape until they pull the price back down! It was a fever that carried us away, our days of simply carrying the banner were over. We were on strike!  
  
Jack called us together and told us we had to be "em-bastards." I dunno the real word Davy used. But he sent us off to every corner of New York, personally. I took Midtown. He took off toward Brooklyn, with Boots and Davy in tow to spread the word to Spot Conlon. If Spot joined then we'd have every newsie in New York.  
  
I waved goodbye to Crutchy and set off. Several blocks later, I found my first midtown newsie. They were mulling around the distribution office, probably thinking the same things we were. I spotted one I knew well, Red, we called him because of his fiery hair, was shaking his head and glancing at the office, where the manager was glaring at the kids. Red spotted me and waved.  
  
"Heya Race, dey jack youse boys up too?" I nodded.  
  
"And we're doin' sumtin' bout it. We'se going' on strike!" Instantly, I was surrounded by thirty newsies all hanging on to me every word.  
  
"You'se whut?" Red stared at me in disbelief.  
  
"We'se going' on strike! Until dey lowea da price!" Several boys mumbled in agreement and many looked unsure. I was positive they'd seen the headline that day, about the trolley strike. Red shook his head.  
  
"Race, I's ain't so sure bout dis."  
  
"Look, " I said, " if we don't sell papes, den nobody sells papes. Pulitzer and Hearst, dey loose money if we don't sell da papes. Dey have ta listen at us." I saw the slowly growing looks of wonder and agreement in the crowd. I glanced at the manager and saw him watching me with worried eyes. I grinned. Another two minutes and they were right behind us. They ran out of the yard and hurried off to spread the word. I grinned and headed back to the square.  
  
Crutchy was already there, as was Skittery and Blink. While we waited for Jack, we played a few games. When Jack showed up, I noticed he looked defeated.  
  
"Jack, so where's Spot?" I asked. Jack leaned against the statue and frowned.  
  
"He was concerned bout us bein' serious. Can ya imagine dat?" I frowned now too. Without Spot, there would never be enough of us. Jack seemed to grow more and more angry as each of us voiced our opinions.  
  
He told us about a newspaperman, Denton, who was interested in our story. He was the one who had been watching us during that first fight. We felt defeated. But Davy wasn't finished.  
  
He taught us the phrase, seize the day. And we seized it all right. Stampeding into the station and ripping up every damn pape we could find. I was having one hell of a time, taking out my angry and frustration on the cause of my immediate misery. Suddenly Jack began yelling.  
  
"Cheeze it! It's da bulls, cheeze it!" We took off, but as I ran I glanced back and saw, to my horror, Crutchy, still laughing and tossing papes into the air.  
  
"Crutchy!" I yelled, "Scram, scram!" He jumped down and tried to limp off. I ducked behind the statue, and watched as the Delancy brothers dragged him off. I winced as they kicked his crutch out from under him. The police just watched and I felt a surge of anger. Then I hurried back to the lodging house where the others were gathered.  
  
"Race!" Jack yelled as I entered. Everyone else had already arrived. He slapped me on the shoulder. " We thought da bulls got ya!"  
  
"Nah, but dey got Crutchy." I told him. There was silence all around the room. Jack looked furious.  
  
"We get Crutchy out tonight." Several kids volunteered to go with him, me included, but he shook his head.  
  
"Nah, jist me and Davy."  
  
"Me?" Davy asked. "Why me?"  
  
"Because you'se ain't got a record."  
  
"And why you?" I asked.  
  
"Because, it's me fault." Jack said, and grabbing his rope and a protesting Davy, he was gone. They got back later that night.  
  
We'd tried to stay up, but most of the younger kids were still asleep. I had drifted off, on Blink's shoulder. Blink had been long gone, when I heard the door open. I shook my head and opened my eyes, expecting to hear the soft thump Crutchy's crutch always made, but there were only muffled footsteps.  
  
I sighed as Jack silently made his way into the room, followed by Davy. Crutchy wasn't with them. Jack made his way through the crowded room. No one was sleeping in their beds that night. I watched him and when he got to his bed, his eyes caught mine. He looked down at the floor, then crawled into bed. I shook my head and tried to go back to sleep after offering Davy my bunk. We had suffered our first casualty. Crutchy was gone or as good as. I wondered if we'd all end up in the slammer at the end of this.  
  
The next morning, we were right back where we'd started, in front of the office, waiting. The new boys they had hired watched us apprehensively from just inside the gates.  
  
"Come ya graftas, cross da line!" I shouted.  
  
Davy tried to keep us calm, but our tempers were boiling over the edge. We were all enraged about Crutchy and our last defeat.  
  
"Alright, everyone, remain calm." He told us. Davy may have had the words, but we looked to Jack for our orders. He stared at them, anger burning in his eyes.  
  
"Let's soak 'em fer Crutchy!" Then we rushed them. They hurried inside, looking for the doors back inside to escape. I was one for the first and was chasing them, when I saw the giant doors open. My breath caught in my throat as I saw the huge men, all armed with clubs and chains.  
  
"Jack!" I yelled desperately, "Jack, it's a trick!" We ran for it, but they pulled the gates closed, trapping us. It seemed hopeless, we were all going to get soaked, or worse. I tried to help Jack, but he was cornered by a huge guy with a chain.  
  
Suddenly, from nowhere, Spot appeared. He and his boys turned the tables and we had them on the run. I did my fair share of hitting, kicking, and just plain soaking. Finally, we had driven them back.  
  
We were shouting and cheering and ripping up any pape we could find. Jack was waving his pape in the air when a man I had seen before in the square watching us, Denton, approached us.  
  
"Boys! Freeze!" We did our best to pose, but were so crowded in a small area, only Jack looked good. He snapped the picture and we went back to cheering.  
  
The next morning found us at Tibbys, a restaurant that offered cheap prices and good food. I often wonder if the owner, Mr. Tibby, ever regreted having his restaurant constantly overcrowded by hordes of boys, but he never said a word. He only got us our orders and let us stay as long as we want.  
  
We were eating as we had no papes to sell, when Denton entered  
  
"Good morning boys!" In an instant, he'd held up a pape. We stared in amazement to see a picture of us staring out from the pape. I laughed. We were in the papes! We were famous!  
  
Most boys were overjoyed, but Skittery shook has head. "So what? So you get's yer pictures in da pape, so what's dat getcha?" we shook our heads and I felt the need to remind him.  
  
"Hey glum and dumb! Whussa matta wid ya? Ya get your picture in de papes, you's famous. You's famous, ya get anythin' ya want." I slammed my fist down on the table, emphasizing my point, " Dat's what so great bout New York!" the boys laughed.  
  
We were kings of New York! We had come so far! We celebrated for a while, before Jack set us down and got serious. "Now we needs a plan." From this came the idea for the rally. A rally for all the newsies of New York, so big everyone would feel stupid for ignoring us.  
  
That night, we began to get ready, painting signs and posters. Jack had slipped upstairs for something when the door opened. We glanced up at the man who entered. I stared, Snyder!  
  
He reached for the logbook, but Kloppman took it from him. I nudged Blink and we watched him apprehensively. I knew he wouldn't recognize me, but I worried about Jack.  
  
"Can I help you?" Kloppman asked. The chatter died down so we could hear.  
  
"You have a boy who calls himself Jack Kelly? I wish to see him." Kloppman, for all his complaining about us, was good to us and treated us well. He fed us, gave us a place to sleep and stay off the streets, he insured that we had a job every morning, by waking us up. He also pretended to know nothing if some bum came around asking about one of his boys.  
  
"Jack Kelly?" He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. " Never heard of him. Never heard of him. Any of you boys ever hear of a Jack Kelly?" he asked.  
  
"Dat's an unusual name fer dese parts." Specs called out. I glanced to the door and saw Jack enter with a smile on his face. Swifty caught him, but Snyder might see him. I took action.  
  
"Oh, you mean Jack Kelly?" I stepped forward, taking my cigar out of my mouth and pulling my hat back. "Yeah he was here." I saw Jack staring at me. but I grinned. " But he put an egg in his shoe and…" I shrugged, "beat it."  
  
The boys burst out laughing and Snyder glared at me. Kloppman waved me back, not before giving me a small smile. Jack slipped up behind him and began to make faces at Snyder behind his back, while sneaking sideways glances at me. I shook my head, knowing we were all in the slammer if Snyder turned around.  
  
"I have reason to believe he's an escaped prisoner, possibly dangerous." I chuckled. Jack was only dangerous to anyone who messed with his newsies. But Kloppman pretended to be concerned.  
  
"Oh, dangerous? I better look in my files. This way please." Jack ducked back behind the line of boys and I darted across the room to hold up a sign in front of him. Snyder turned to face us and found several signs and posters in his way.  
  
"Give ta da newsie strike fund, mista?" I asked him, innocently. He glared at me and handed me a coin, which I took with the same hand that held my cigar, "accidentally" dropping some ash onto his coat. He didn't notice and I grinned at him behind his back.  
  
To say the least, he found nothing and I slipped back upstairs to find Jack on the roof.  
  
"Hey Jack." He turned and grinned at me.  
  
"Hiya Race." He grinned at me. "I's thought ya wus going to turn me in down dere." I shook my head.  
  
"Couldn't resist. Snyder always wus so fun." He shook his head.  
  
"Ya shouldn't'a talked ta him. What if he recognized ya?" I held out my hands.  
  
"Could you? I don't look nuttin' like I did. Don't worry bout me, Jacky boy. But I suggest you find a place ta sleep tanight. He may come back wid da bulls." Jack nodded and slipped down the fire escape.  
  
The next time I saw him was the rally. He, Davy, and Spot were on stage giving speeches and telling us what we needed to do. There was one tense moment at the discussion of what do to about the soaking scabs, but Jack calmed things down, reminding us that we had to stick together.  
  
Then Medda came out. She was in full prime that night and we sang right along with her, proud of ourselves and what we had become. After the song, we cheered and shouted, on some kind of high. But it couldn't last.  
  
I noticed David hurry up to Jack and whisper something in his ear. I didn't pay much attention to it until I heard the police whistle. I glanced up and saw Snyder watching at the edge of the hall, while coppers were filling the halls rapidly, along with lots of huge thugs. Jack grabbed Sarah, David's sister, and they hurried out the back. I hoped he'd get away.  
  
I put my arm around Medda and hurried to the stage, handing her over to her maid and bodyguard. Then I turned to join my friends.  
  
"No, Race!" she called, "Stay with me!" I reassured her and turned back to the fighting. Instantly, I was face to face with a thug, at least two feet bigger than me. The scabber kicked out and I grasped my stomach, out of breath suddenly, doubled over with the pain of the surprise attack. It hurt and to say that it hurt a lot would be simplifying it just a tad. I could hear Medda screaming in the background, just as I saw the fist come down and pain blossomed along my jaw. The hit sent me reeling back onto the fake bridge and I quickly began to loose consciousness. The last thing I remember was Medda's screams.  
  
No! No! For God's sake! He's just a child! Can't you see that? Racetrack!" my mind faded as I felt two sets of hands drags me outside. Then, nothing…  
  
I must have woken up in prison, because when I next opened my eyes, we were all seated in a small cell, Blink beside me on my right and Spot on my left. The younger ones were on the cots, while us older kids had taken up the floor. I couldn't see David, Les, or Jack.  
  
"Hey, Race." I hear Blink mutter beside me. I glanced at him and winced. His face was bruised something awful and he held his right side like it hurt him to move. His eye, under the patch, was bruised and swollen. I winced.  
  
"Hey Blink, you all right?" he nodded. I shifted and felt a sharp pain run up my side. I winced and gingerly touched it.  
  
"Ya wanna be careful." Spot spoke up. He was nursing a black eye. "I saw ya get kicked and it didn't look like much fun." I shook my head, and then regretted it.  
  
"Where's Jack?" Blink shook his head.  
  
"Dunno. We tried at get him out da front, but dere wus coppas everywhere. Dey got me and Jack ran back inside." He looked sorry, like he'd failed Jack by getting caught.  
  
"Dey got him too." Spot said. Those of us still awake looked at him. "I saw it. Dey punched him hard when he wus tryin' ta get back up da stairs." We sighed. It was all over. Who knew what was happening now. Part of me wished I could just go back to the way things were, when the newsies were a family and we were happy. I sighed wearily and let my head fall back against the cold stone wall. Slowly, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.  
  
"Get up, you street rats!" a voice hollered at us. I blinked, and remembered where I was. Spot helped me stand and we were led out where each of our wrists was cuffed. At least the older ones were. They seemed to know exactly who were the leaders. Spot, Blink, Mush, and I, along with a few others were all led in, in handcuffs. We stood beside the judge's seat and waited.  
  
He looked down at us, unsympathetically, even though we were all covered in bruises and cuts.  
  
"Are any of you boys represented by council?" We glanced at each other, unsure of his meaning, " No? Good, that will move things along considerably." But Spot wasn't going to let anyone talk to him that way.  
  
"Hey, yer honoa, I object!" he said. The judge glared at him.  
  
"On what grounds?"  
  
"On da grounds 'a Brooklyn, yer honoa." Spot answered, with a serious look on his face as if he meant every word. Of course, we cracked up, the judge was not amused. He banged his, well honestly, I don't know what it's called, but you know what I'm talking about, he banged his whatever-ya-call- it, to quiet the room.  
  
"I fine each of you five dollars, or two weeks confinement in the House of Refuge." We stared at him. None of us had that much money, even if we scraped all our savings together. I shook my head and spoke up.  
  
"Whoa. We ain't got five bucks. We ain't even got five cents. Hey, yer honoa, how's 'bout I roll ya for it. Double er nuttin'?" the boys cracked up again and I smiled. Again, the judge was not pleased.  
  
"Move along, move along." He ordered. But we were saved when Denton appeared, claiming he'd pay all our fines. As we were led off, he leaned over and whispered, "Look, we've got to meet at the restaurant. Everybody. We have to talk." We nodded.  
  
"Move along." The judge ordered. We glared at him. Just as we were being led off, Jack was led in. He looked like he'd had better nights, but some of us looked worse. He was handcuffed too.  
  
"Hey fellas!" he called, grinning when he saw us.  
  
"Hey Cowboy!" I called back, "Nice shiner!" I added, noticing the large bruise on his chin.  
  
"Move along." The judge chirped his favorite line and we were led out of the courtroom. As soon as the cuffs were off, we were gone. I sat next to Blink at the restaurant. We waited for Denton for what seemed like forever. We talked about what it would be like to have our names in all the papes, about how the whole city would know the injustice we'd suffered, and the strike would take hold of everybody.  
  
But when he did show up, what he had to tell us, well, it wasn't the good news we'd been hoping for. Instead, he came to tell us goodbye, that he'd been reassigned. We couldn't believe it, not even when he told us that not one of the papes had printed the story, not even his. I tossed my cigar down in defeat. Denton handed his story, the story about the rally to David, asking him at least to read it. As Denton shut the door behind him, I realized I'd never felt to defeated, so betrayed. I thought it was the worst I'd ever felt in my whole life. I was wrong.  
  
As the door slammed shut, David crushed the paper in his fist and threw it to the table.  
  
"We get Jack out of the Refuge tonight. From now on, we trust no one but the newsies." We nodded and set off.  
  
That night, Davy, Les, Mush, Boots, Blink and I slipped into the Refuge. The night was dark and hid us from the bulls patrolling outside. Davy pointed out where he and Jack had seen Crutchy. I nodded, confirming that was where they kept the boys.  
  
But just as we were about to cross the courtyard, the door opened. We ducked behind some cans and watched as Jack was led out to the carriage.  
  
"Hey, it's Jack!" Les began to approach the men, but David pulled him back.  
  
"Where dey taking him?' Mush asked. Davy took off his cap and put it in his pocket.  
  
"Only one way to find out. Racetrack, watch him." I took Les and we watched him run after the carriage. Silently, we crept out the way we had come. We managed to reach the square safely and settled down to wait. Les was tucked under my arm, as I sat against the statue. The air was cold and we were all shivering.  
  
"Do you think he'll bring Jack back with him?" Les asked. Blink and Mush sighed, but I frowned. Davy had told me to watch him, not to tell him lies, but I had learned that sometimes, a lie is what you need.  
  
"Surah, maybe."  
  
"Great," Les smiled, " then everything will be alright again, right? Then we'll go back on strike until they lower the price." I sighed.  
  
"If only dings were dat easy, kid." I sighed.  
  
"Well, why not? Why can't they be?" He looked up at me. He was so young, had seen so little of how cruel I knew the world could be.  
  
"Because life ain't like dat. Life ain't so kind ta kids like you'se and me. Neva has been, neva will. But we'se gonna make it. Takes more den dis ta keep ol' Cowboy down. Trust me. He'll be back." I felt horrible lying to him like that, but what else could I do? He watched me for a few moments as I blew lightly on my cigar. I grinned and offered him a puff. He took it and inhaled, just a bit too deeply, and began to cough.  
  
"Davy told ya to watch him, not kill him." Blink said, laughing. I smiled.  
  
"Don't worry, kid. You'll get da hang a' it." Les smiled at me.  
  
Not long after we heard footsteps. We quickly got to our feet and let out a sigh of relief when Davy appeared out of the gloom. I groaned when I saw he was alone.  
  
"Where's Jack?" Les asked. Davy shook his head and pulled Les into a tight hug. I knew things weren't looking good. Blink tapped me on the shoulder and we headed off, back to the lodging house and the disappointed newsies. We crawled up the fire escape and into our beds without a word to the others.  
  
The next morning was the worst day of my life, even more so than when my parents died, or when I found myself locked in prison. The next morning, we were gathered in front of the office once again. But this time, scuffles and fights were breaking out all over. It was disorganized and bound for disaster. Without Jack, the strike had no spirit, no backbone. Without Denton, the strike had no press, no pity. It was plain to us that without Jack, the strike would die.  
  
"Race! Help me!" Davy called, trying to calm the crowd of angry newsies down.  
  
"Alright, I aint' deaf!" I yelled at him, just as frustrated as the rest of us, but I shoved several scrimmaging boys apart. Spot joined me, facing the gates. After a few seconds, I felt someone grabbing my arm.  
  
"Hey Race, come here." I turned to see Spot, staring in confusion at the gates. "Tell I'm seein' tings. Just tell me I'm seein' tings." He held up his hands to fend off whatever offensive vision he was seeing. I glanced at the gates and frowned. Jack was walking out. It looked like he had a clean fresh gray suit I'd never seen him wear before.  
  
"No, you ain't seeing tings. Dat's Jack. What's he doin'?" My mind was still too angry, too frustrated with the loss of last night to understand that we were about to lose again, and this time, the price would be our spirit.  
  
"He's dressed like a scabba!" Spot said, his voice getting louder. I couldn't believe it! Jack, what are ya doing, Jack? I thought franticly. Mush tried to get him to look at him, but Jack refused. Boots and Blink tried to push through to talk to Jack, but the bulls held them back.  
  
"The clothes are a gift, from Mr. Pulitzer himself, for his special new employee." Weasel looked all too proud of himself. Then Spot realized what all our minds had been struggling to comprehend.  
  
"He sold us out!"  
  
I launched myself at the line of bulls, yelling at Jack, " I'll give ya a new suit! I'll soak ya! Ya bum! Ya fake!" Davy grabbed me and held me back. I shook my head, unable to believe. My best friend! Spot had the same idea as he hurled himself at the boy who had once called himself our friend.  
  
"Hey, hey, hey! Lemme get me hands doity. Come 'era ya doity rotten scabba! Traita!" We dragged him back, wanting nothing more than to let him go running at Jack, and get in a few punches of our own. Remember when I said I'd thought I'd never felt so betrayed when Denton left us? This was worse. This was way way worse. I was fighting back tears. He'd led us on this suicide mission and sold us out when things were the worst! Some friend.  
  
Davy was pacing up in front of the rest of us, still trying to hold back Spot. Weasel smiled and let him through. He walked up to Jack and they spoke too softly for any of us to hear. But whatever Jack said, it wasn't what Davy wanted to hear. He began to walk back, but stood for a moment, staring at our angry and betrayed faces. Then he turned and rushed Jack, but was stopped by the police and Weasel. They began to push through the crowds, while we fought to get at our former friend.  
  
We called out to him, Spot still calling him a traitor, Boots yelling, heartbreakingly, "I trusted you!" I had my own to add.  
  
"Seize da day, huh Jack?" For an instant, I thought I saw him glance back, but I convinced myself it was only my imagination. As we watched him leave, a child's voice drifted through to our already sick hearts.  
  
"He's foolin' 'em, so he can spy on 'em or something. Yeah, yeah, that's it. He's foolin' 'em!" Les stared up at us, begging us to tell him he was right. Davy said nothing but hugged his distraught little brother. I patted him on his head and sighed.  
  
"Yeah, he's spyin' on 'em, kid." Then we turned our backs on Jack as he had on us.  
  
The next few days, we spent at the lodging house, unwilling and unable to leave and face the world. Kloppman seemed to understand and no one paid in those few days. We played several halfhearted games of poker or blackjack, but that one quickly lost interest. I hadn't been to the races in over a week and a half, not since that day it all started. All we could do was wonder where we had gone wrong. No one looked at Jack's bunk and at night, you could hear the smaller ones crying.  
  
Then two days afterwards, much earlier than I had ever woken up before, even in the winter when we got up before the sun, I felt someone shake me. I rolled over and waved them away.  
  
"Race, Race get up!" I groaned and rolled back over. It was Les.  
  
"Whudda ya doin' 'era, kid?" He tugged on my arm again.  
  
"Get up! We gotta get moving. Come on!" I stared at him, before fumbling for the bedside switch and flicking it on. This conjured several grunts and groans from the other boys, especially Blink. He leaned over and glared at me as I grabbed my watch and struggled to make sense out of the small symbols and motions I would have otherwise known in an instant.  
  
"Les, da ya know whut time it is?" I asked him.  
  
"I know, we're late already! Let's go!" He yanked on my arm again and turned to drag Blink out of bed. Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. Without so much as a word to explain, Les dragged us out the door and down the hall. We snuck past Kloppman's room downstairs and out into the street. When we reached the distribution office, we stopped.  
  
"What's going' on, Les?" I asked. He didn't answer and only dragged me to a small basement window near the wagons. I peered in and saw Jack's face peering out. I jumped back and then glared.  
  
"Whudda youse want?" He frowned.  
  
"Look, Race, it's a long story. I'll tell ya sometime, but now we need yer help." I shook my head.  
  
"Not a chance, Cowboy." I said his name harshly. He grabbed my arm.  
  
"Please, Race. For da newsies." I sighed.  
  
"What?" He ducked down and appeared a moment later, his hands full of a stack of papers. I took them and frowned over them. The Newsie Banner was printed on the top.  
  
"What's dis?" I asked him. The others had crowded out behind me. A few took the papers and read over them, smiles slowly spread across their faces.  
  
"Our secret weapon. Load dem inta da wagon. We need ta get da woid out ta all da kids a New York." Slowly, I began to understand and I handed the papes to Blink.  
  
"Put 'em inta da wagon." We loaded stack after stack until sunrise. Then we set out, each carrying a large stack in hand, to spread the word, once and for all.  
  
Each kid I found I handed a pape to. "Ya know howta read?" I asked a kid shining shoes in the street. He nodded.  
  
"Read dis." I handed him the pape and set off. By noon, I was out. I made my way back to the statue and we waited. Denton had vanished that morning, and we had no idea where he'd gone. We waited. Time passed and not one kid had shown up.  
  
"So when's de uddas comin', Jack?" Mush asked. Jack shook his head.  
  
"Dey aint' coming. Ain't gonna be nobody but us." I sighed. I didn't know if I could handle one more disappointment. We had our leader back, but we could still loose.  
  
I noticed Les move quietly off to the side. He stared up at Pulitzer's building. Then he sang softly to himself. "When the circulation bell starts ringing, will we hear it?  
  
I came up behind him and stomped out my cigarette. " Nah." He smiled at me. " What if the Delancey's come out swinging, will we hear it?"  
  
He shook his head and gave a violent "No!"  
  
I smiled and shoved his hat over his eyes. "Dat a boy." The others came up behind us and stared up at the office of the man who had caused all this trouble. Suddenly, a soft noise caught my ear, growing steadily louder. We turned and stared as a huge mass of children, all ages, boys and girls, in all manner of dress, and all waving our pape, came rushing into the square from all sides. In seconds the place was filled the to brim and we cheered louder than any of them. Slowly, we made our way to the front of the crowd, where I noticed the doors opening slightly. I tapped Jack on his shoulder.  
  
"Dear me, whut da we have 'era?" Jack grinned and he and Davy moved up. They entered the building and we were left to wonder. Spot and the boys from Brooklyn milled in the corner, while we waited. Les tugged on my shoulder.  
  
" What do you think he's telling them?" He shouted, above the chanting children in the square. I shrugged and watched the doors carefully. It seemed like hours, before they opened again and Davy walked out, just a bit a head of Jack. We all pushed towards Jack, begging to be told what he said. But Jack leaned over and whispered in Les's ear. I listened heard to hear, but couldn't. Then he lifted Les up on his shoulders and the whole square fell silent.  
  
"We beat 'em!" he yelled. And the square exploded in noise. There was cheering and shouting of every kind. Hugging and crying even. We couldn't believe it. We had taken on the most powerful man in New York and beaten him! How many of us really thought we could have gotten this far at the beginning I dunno, I sure didn't. But that made this day even more exciting.  
  
I really don't have the vocabulary or even if I did, I could never find the right words to tell you what we felt like in that crowded square that hot summer day. I doubt I ever will, even if I live to tell this story to my great-grandkids.  
  
Les was higher than all of us and so he saw the paddy wagon before the rest of us. "Jack!" he called, "it's the bulls, lemme down!" Jack let him down and the instant he saw who was seated in the front, we shoved him down and to the back, just in time to run into Denton.  
  
"Jack, it's over. " None of us were convinced and dragged Jack off farther. But Denton grabbed him. " No, no. You don't have to run. Not anymore. Not from the likes of him. Come on, Come on." He pulled Jack to the front where we could see much more clearly and I was shocked to see Snyder in cuffs! The bulls led him around to the back where they opened the cart and several boys jumped out, the last being our very own Crutchy! He was grinning and waved as we called out to him.  
  
But Crutchy was to have his revenge before his reunion. , He tapped Snyder on the shoulder. "Ah, remember whut I told ya, Mr. Snyder. The foist ding ya do in jail, make friends wid da rats. Share whut ya got in common." We laughed. Snyder glared at us and climbed in. Crutchy was given the privilege of slamming the door on him and we cheered louder than ever before.  
  
Crutchy made his way over to us and greeted us as energetically as we greeted him. Denton smiled. "You won't be seeing much of him anymore. Say goodbye Warden."  
  
"See ya warden! Goodbye!" We called out. I was never happier to see a man go to jail. Then Crutchy turned back to us.  
  
"Oh, Jack, you ought ta seen it! He comes stormin' inta the Refuge waving his walkin' stick like a sword and he's leadin' in dis army of lawyers and cops."  
  
"Who comes stormin' in?" Jack asked.  
  
"You know, your friend. Him!" Crutchy pointed across the square to a carriage and a very familiar man waving his hat at the cheering children. Teddy Roosevelt! We stared amazed, and then cheered even louder. It was all too unbelievable. The governor! Roosevelt was here? I felt the same as I had that day, that day that seemed like a lifetime ago. This day got better and better!  
  
"The Governor's very grateful that you brought this problem to his attention. I said you might need a lift somewhere. He'd be happy to oblige. Anywhere you want. And this time, you ride inside. " We laughed. But Jack looked serious.  
  
"So, can he drop me at the train yards?" I frowned. What? The train yards? Jack was really going to leave us? After all this, he still wanted to leave? But why? I wondered, we're his family.  
  
I sighed, knowing exactly where he wanted to go. And I knew I had to let him go. So I put on my excited face and cheered him on as he rode off, waving at us and shaking our hands.  
  
But as soon as the carriage was gone, my mask fell. The street cleared rapidly and we watched from the corner, saddened at the loss of our friend and yet excited at the victory we'd just won. We entered the distribution office and smiled at each other. Then we turned around, surprised at the sudden rush of cheering in the crowd.  
  
The carriage was back! Jack was back! We rushed the carriage, shouting at our friend, who dared even think of leaving us. Sarah got to Jack first and he pulled her into a kiss. We whistled and cheered and patted them on the back. I'm sure they would have wanted a bit more courtesy or privacy, but we were too hyped up to give a thought to anything but our elation.  
  
That night, we didn't go home. We were still out celebrating all night. We ran through the streets, whooping and shouting, letting the whole world know we had won. We crept in that next morning just after sunrise. Kloppman let us sleep that day, for the first time in history.  
  
Things had changed for the better. Though they did not lower the price, they did open a new policy that let us sell back our unsold papes back at the end of the day. We no longer had to eat them. This made up a great deal for the price rise.  
  
Davy got his nickname from that strike. It was Spot's idea, Jack said. Davy became known all throughout New York as the Walking Mouth, though we just all called him Mouth.  
  
We had power, we had learned that during those two hot weeks, we had learned that lesson well. Power of the press. We learned that every dog has his day, and that sometimes, when one voice stands up and shouts loud enough for the world to hear, that others will join with him, and grow louder, and louder, until nothing can silence them. it is a valuable lesson, indeed. And Pulitzer learned to respect the rights of the working boys of New York.  
  
But that ain't the end of my story. There's still more to come. It's not like my life ended after the strike. Of course not. Things went on, though they were quiet. For a month or two. Then the worst thing that could have happened to me did. 


	4. Reunion

Chapter four  
  
  
  
Well, I want to thank all the people who reviewed, and it's strange, Hica Lynn, Half-Pint, and T.H, I have read all your stories and loved them! Maybe we should start a Race fan club. *wink wink *  
  
Well, nothing belongs to me, keep reading and reviewing. Thanks!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was a hot night when I made my way home from the races. It was dark, thought it's never really dark in New York. But it was late and my feet hurt. I'd missed the last carriage from Coney Island and there was no way I'd have enough for a trolley or cab, so I walked. I was not looking forward to climbing in through the window, but I did not have the money tonight. I'd lost quite a bit that day and wasn't too cheerful. The night grew colder as I neared the lodging house and I pulled my jacket closer, puffing on my cigar.  
  
I was surprised to see several lights still on, both upstairs and down. Maybe it was a holiday or something, I wondered. I never kept track of dates, so it could have well been Christmas and I wouldn't know it. Suddenly, I remembered, then groaned.  
  
Once a year, all the lodging houses in New York had to be inspected, to make they were fit to live in and everything. There was some man in charge of child labor in the city, and it was his job to inspect the lodging house. He was new this year. It had been in the papes a few months back, back before the strike, but I didn't remember whom. The inspection was that evening, and I'd missed it. Jack was going to kill me.  
  
I stopped and rested my head against a light post, debating going somewhere else tonight and saving Jack's rage until later, but I was so tired, I felt I could hardly walk another step and I decided to face my doom and go inside. I moved towards the alley to climb up the fire escape and get out of the fee for the night, but just then a movement in the alley next to me caught my eye.  
  
I stopped and frowned, as Jack appeared, a tight smile on his face, as if something were wrong and he was trying to cover it up.  
  
"Hey Race. You're late." I took my cigar out and tossed it onto the ground, snuffing it with my shoe.  
  
"Yeah, sorry bout dat. I missed da last carriage and had ta walk." He nodded. I made my way to the steps, but he grabbed my arm. I had thought he was going to be furious. As leader, he liked to know where his newsies where and that they were all right. He always yelled at one or another of us for worrying him. Every time this had happened to me, he'd woken up the rest of the lodging house, by yelling at me.  
  
"Let's go fer a walk." I stared at him. A walk? He'd never worried about scolding any of us in front of the others, and I wondered what made this time any different. But it was, I could feel it.  
  
"What? But I don't wanna. I's tired, Jack. I wanna sleep." He nodded.  
  
"Fine, ya can sleep later." Then he dragged me down the street. I knew it now, something was very wrong. Why couldn't I go back to the lodging house?  
  
"Jack, what's wrong?" I asked. He didn't answer me, not until we'd reached an apartment house three streets over that I recognized as Davy's.  
  
"Whudda we doin' era?" I asked. Jack stopped.  
  
"Ya trust me, right Race?" I nodded.  
  
"A course, Jack. Ya me best friend." He sighed.  
  
"Den trust me, just dis time. Ya can't go back tonight, Race. It aint safe. Yer stayin' 'era tonight." And with that he marched into the building and up the stairs, knocking on the door to the Jacobs's apartment. I had never been here, but Jack practically lived there when he wasn't selling or with us. A pretty middle-aged woman who smiled gently at Jack, opened the door.  
  
"Jack," she said, surprised, " What are you doing here at this hour?"  
  
"I hope I ain't disturbin' nobody." Jack said, whipping off his hat as she beckoned us inside. I did the same.  
  
"Jack, Race!" Les was out of bed and leaping at us in an instant. First into Jack's arms, then mine. Davy smiled up at us from the table where he was working out of a book, and Sarah smiled shyly at Jack from the corner. Mr. Jacobs got up and shook Jack's hand; I noticed his right arm was in a sling.  
  
"Whoa, slow down, kid. I jist saw ya's a few hours ago." Jack said, grinning as Les jumped all over us. Then he stepped aside and spoke with Mr. Jacobs for a moment. I felt a little awkward, just standing there, until Davy got up.  
  
"What are you doing here, Race?" I shrugged.  
  
"I gots no idea, Mouth. One minute, I's coming home from da races, da next, Jack's draggin' me off 'era."  
  
"Well, Race. It's official. You'se stayin' 'era tanight." Jack came up to us and clamped his hand on my shoulder. I stared at him. Here? Where? There hardly seemed room for the Jacobs's. Where would I stay?'  
  
"Here?" Davy asked. " Why?" I shook my head, looking just as confused as Davy.  
  
"Look, dis ain't necessary. I's can go back. I'se can jist slip in trough da window. No one will eva-" Jack took my shoulders and slammed me against the wall, starling the hell out of me and Davy.  
  
"Look, Race. Ya said ya trusted me. Now I'm da leader and I say ya can't go dere tonight. Now ya promise me ya won't come back till we'se says it's okay."  
  
"But Jack, I-" he shook me again.  
  
"Promise!" I stared at him. I had never seen him act like this, never. He was glaring at me, using the full power of our friendship and his leadership abilities. I nodded.  
  
"A course, Cowboy."  
  
"Promise!" His voice was harsh and quiet, always his most dangerous.  
  
"I, I promise." I stammered. Then he seemed satisfied, because he let me go. I rubbed my shoulder where his fingers had dug in and watched him tip his cap to Sarah and Mrs. Jacobs before hurrying off.  
  
Davy stared at me. "What is going on, Race?" I shook my head.  
  
"I dunno, Davy. I dunno." Mrs. Jacobs seemed a bit disturbed, but she insisted on proper greetings.  
  
"Please, have a seat." I sat down, tucking my cap into my pocket. "Are you hungry?" She asked. I nodded.  
  
"If it ain't too much trouble, ma'am." She smiled.  
  
"Of course not, just let me heat up the soup." She got up and Mr. Jacobs smiled at me.  
  
"Well, if we're going to let you stay, we might as least know your name." I opened my mouth, but Les beat me to it.  
  
"It's Race, Racetrack Higgins." I shook my head and smiled. Davy grinned.  
  
"Racetrack?" Mrs. Jacobs asked. "That's an interesting name. How did you come by it?"  
  
"Well, every newsie has a nick dat he's known by."  
  
"A nick?" Mrs. Jacobs asked, frowning over the stove at me. I nodded.  
  
"Yeah, a nick. Something everyone calls 'em. Most are more den willin' ta give up dere old names and take whuteva da newies call 'em. Davy's is Da mouth, on account a he talks so much." Davy blushed. " Mine's Racetrack cause-"  
  
"Cause he sells at the racetracks!" Les burst in again. I laughed.  
  
"Yeah, dat's about it."  
  
"What's your real name?" Sarah asked. Davy shook his head and I frowned.  
  
"You can't ask him that! What if he had the bulls after him?" Les insisted, glaring at his big sister. I noticed his parents exchange worried looks.  
  
"Don't worry, " I laughed, trying to cover up my nervousness. " I ain't done nuttin'."  
  
"I certainly hope not, Mr. Higgins." Mr. Jacobs said smiling. I shook my head.  
  
"Please, nonna dat Mr. stuff. Da names Race."  
  
Mrs. Jacobs set a bowl of hot steaming soup in front of me and I dug in, enjoying the flavor. I hadn't had a home cooked meal since my mother died and savored the flavor. It was delicious and I told her so. She smiled.  
  
"It's a simple recipe." I nodded.  
  
"Tastes like something me ma would make." I turned back to my food, before glancing at Davy and noticing him get a strange look on his face.  
  
"Your mother?" he asked. "Where is she?" I pretended I hadn't heard him and finished the last drops, before smiling at his mother.  
  
"I really ain't meanin' ta impose, but Jack wus so insistent." Les crawled up into my lap.  
  
"Why couldn't you go back to the lodging house?" I shrugged.  
  
"Not a clue. I wus jist comin' home and Jack drags me away before I can even get in da door."  
  
"Well, it's late and you boys have to get up early tomorrow." Mr. Jacobs said, ending the conversation. After a few moment of discussion, it was decided that I would sleep in Davy's bed and that he and Les would share for the night. Davy's parents kissed their children goodnight and I was surprised when Mrs. Jacobs pulled me into a tight hug.  
  
"You're welcome here anytime, Race." I smiled.  
  
"Tanks, ma'am." Then I settled down to sleep. Soon Davy began to snore across the room and as everything became silent, I drifted off to sleep.  
  
The next morning, I awoke to Jack shaking me. I groaned and sat up, forgetting for the moment where I was, then remembering.  
  
"Can I come back now, Jack?" I asked irritably. Jack shook his head.  
  
"I's came ta getcha up. We's gotta woik." I groaned, but changed quickly and we slipped down the fire escape with out anyone waking up. When we arrived at the distribution office, I noticed many of the newsies giving me sidelong glances as I brought my papes. I looked at Blink, but he wouldn't meet my gaze. I felt strange, left out. I'd never been left out of anything and here was something no one was telling me. I saw Jack speak to Davy and then even he began to give me the same look, as if they felt sorry for me, but where afraid to say anything. I grabbed my papes and set off for my usual selling spot, in a very bad mood.  
  
But by noon, I was in much better spirits, having sold all my papes and winning a few bets on the races. I decided to head back for some lunch. I had had enough of my own company for the day and I looked forward to the company of my friends. Of course, throughout the day, I had forgotten all about the strange sideways looks of my friends and I sank down into a booth, next to Blink and Mush.  
  
"Heya fellas, how wus sellin'?" Mush cleared his throat and Blink shrugged. I frowned. Then I remembered. I rolled my eyes and put a smile on my face. I slapped down the few bucks I'd earned, expecting them to laugh and ask what I'd done now, stolen it, but no one said a word.  
  
"Look," I said, turning to Blink, "I's sick and tired of dis! What is going' on?" he refused to say a word and stirred his drink. "Mush, come on, tell me." Mush shook his head, trying his best not to look me in the eye.  
  
"Sorry, Race." He murmured apologetically.  
  
"Goddamn it!" I slammed my fist down on the table, attracting the attention of all my other friends. "How da hell am I suposseda know what's goin' on when nobody's tellin' me?" Silence as my friends found their shoes and hands suddenly very interesting and I gave up. I stormed out of the restaurant and slammed the door, hard enough to break it, I hoped.  
  
I stomped all the way back to the lodging house, but to my shock, Kloppman shook his head when I placed my fee on the counter.  
  
"Not tonight, Race. Sorry." I groaned.  
  
"Not you'se too!" He shook his head, but there was nothing I could do. I made my way back outside, and began to wander. Soon I found myself on the Brooklyn side of the river, though how I got there, I had no idea. I decide that Spot wouldn't turn me down.  
  
I almost didn't make it. I was so confused and distracted; I was hardly paying attention to where I was going and what was going on around me. That is a very dangerous thing to do, especially after dark.  
  
"Well, well, well, look who it is, little Tony Higgins." I looked up, startled to see a huge thug grinning at me. How did this great big hulk know my name, I wondered. I looked around and saw no one and began to back away, knowing I'd made a terrible mistake.  
  
"Hiya, boys." I said, trying to smile. " Nice night, ain't it?"  
  
"You're dead, newsie!" he grunted and my eyes opened wider.  
  
"Now look, I's ain't done nuttin' ta youse, so why don't I jist leave and we can ferget da whole ting?"  
  
He laughed and another one came out of nowhere to grab me from behind. I struggled but couldn't get away. They were both a lot bigger than me and had a lot stronger grip.  
  
"This is a message from your dear old uncle." He cackled as he swung his fist and hit me full in the face, causing my neck to snap back. It didn't half hurt, and I couldn't help crying out. Then he reached up and kneed me hard. I doubled over. The thick necked one let me drop and I fell, still stunned from the kick. They kicked out again and again, throwing in some punches for good measure, until I could hardly breathe. Finally, they left, laughing to themselves and leaving me beaten and broken in an alley near the river.  
  
I lay there for a few moments, wondering how these men of my uncle could have found me and what they wanted. I'd had no money, nothing for him to want.  
  
Slowly, I got to my feet and managed to make my way across the bridge, though it took me a better part of an hour for a walk that usually took ten minutes. I limped my way down the street until I almost ran into a boy.  
  
"Hey watch it, ya bum!" he growled. Then he turned to walk away. It took my dazed mind a moment or two to recognize the voice.  
  
"Spot!" I called out weakly. He spun around in an instant.  
  
"Race? Dat you?" I nodded. "Oh man, what happened ta ya?"  
  
"Da Delancy bruddas." I mumbled, not wanting to let the truth out. " Wasn't payin' attention. Dey cornered me." He slipped am arm under my shoulder and helped me limp along.  
  
"Why's didn't ya go back ta da lodging house?" I shook my head, making the world spin once again.  
  
"I ain't welcome dere." He stared at me. But he waited till we reached his home before he asked me anything else. Once there, the lodging house manager got me some ice and a few bandages for the bigger cuts. I ignored Spot's questions until I'd finished cleaning myself up. Then I told him the events of the past few days and he listened with interest. When I had finished, he sat back.  
  
"Well, sure you'se can stay 'ere. I'll send a message ta Jack, lettin' him know where ya are." But that night I spent at the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging house, a place I'd often visited, but never stayed. Brooklyn was a bit too tough for my blood. The next morning, I felt myself dragged out of bed long before the sun was up. Normally, I would have complained, but not now. I simply dressed and followed Spot down the stairs and across the bridge to Manhattan. We reached the lodging house, just as the others were getting up. Kloppman came down the steps, just as we walked in the door. He looked surprised to see me.  
  
But not half as surprised as Jack when he left the washroom, and saw Spot, standing there, hand on his cane, looking mad as hell. Or me behind him, looking like something the cat dragged in.  
  
"Race, whut da hell happened ta ya?" he asked.  
  
"He got soaked." Spot said. "Came crawling, half unconscious all da way ta Brooklyn because he said youse guys didn't want him." The other boys began to take interest and crowd around. I shook my head and sat down on a bunk. In an instant Blink was by my side and handed me a cup of water. I drank it gratefully.  
  
"It ain't dat he ain't welcome." Jack began. "It's his family dat I's worried about." I frowned.  
  
"What family, Jack? I'se got nobody, but da newsies." He glared at me.  
  
"You and me's both know dat ain't true." I stared at him, wondering what he was talking about? He knew my parents were dead. He couldn't be thinking about my Uncle, could he?  
  
"Da ya remember what de udda day wus, Race?"  
  
"De inspection? Look, I told ya I wus sorry!" Jack shook his head.  
  
"Da ya have any idea who de inspector wus?" I shook my head.  
  
"His name was Matthew Higgins!" If I hadn't been sitting down, I would have had to. But that didn't prevent my head from spinning, or my mind to go suddenly blank. One word kept running through my head, nononononononononononononononono!!! I began to breath harder and I tucked my legs up close to my chest. Blink patted me on the back. I felt it, but could not react. He'd found me; he'd found me, why did he have to find me?  
  
"I take it ya know da name." Jack's voice jerked me out of my trance, but I didn't move other than to nod my head. It no longer mattered to me that the others were watching me carefully.  
  
"Den you'll be interested ta know, he looked at da files, da ones going' way back, back before ya signed yer name, Racetrack Higgins. And he ordered us ta tells him where youse wus." I looked at Jack, wondering for an instant if he had turned me in.  
  
"I told him we'd neva hoid a' Anthony Higgins." I let out the breath I'd been holding.  
  
"And he said dat if we didn't tell him by da end a' da week, he'd close da lodgin' house." Now I was on my feet. I moved so fast I banged my already wounded head on the top bunk and swore. Blink moved to help me, but I waved him away. I shook my head. The bastard! How could he do this to me, to my friends? They'd be thrown out into the streets. They had no where to go, none of us did. I closed my eyes.  
  
"And dat's why we ain't been lettin' ya stay. He's been watchin' da place." Jack said, more quietly then before. I stared at my friends. I couldn't let him do this, I couldn't! They would be thrown into the streets, Kloppman too, and it would be all my fault. I took a deep breath, knowing exactly what I had to do.  
  
I silently made my way across the room, to my bunk. There, I ripped the pillow case off the pillow and began stuffing my various belongings into it. I reached under the mattress to retrieve my secret stash, which wasn't so secret as all the newsies kept their valuables under their mattresses. Then I swung it over my shoulder and headed towards the door. My former friends watched me as I did all this, but made no move to stop me. As I reached the doorway, I turned around.  
  
"Don't worry, he won't bodda ya no more. I'll make sure a' dat." Then I turned and went quietly down the stairs. No one followed me. I slapped a few cents down on the counter in front of Kloppman and smiled.  
  
"Tanks fer everytin'." He stared at me.  
  
"You'se leavin' Racetrack?" I nodded.  
  
"Don't worry bout yer lodging house. It'll be fine. I'll make sure." Then I slipped out the door. As I turned the corner, I had a sudden desire to turn around, but I ignored it, hurrying my pace until I was several blocks away. Only then did I let myself slow down.  
  
Noon dawned quickly as I wandered the city and I settled down in Central Park to count my money. Eighteen dollars and eight-two cents. My lifesavings. Enough for a ticket, but to where? My stomach rumbled and I spent a nickel on a hotdog and a few cigarettes. I ate slowly, not knowing when the next time I might be eating was.  
  
The day had become sunny and bright, drastically compared to the storm that was brewing inside of me. I had not previously known it was possible to have all these conflicting emotions all at once. I felt sadness at being forced to leave, loneliness for the life I already missed, and anger. Anger at my Uncle for causing all this, anger at Jack for not telling me, and finally anger at my friends for not calling me back.  
  
As I sat by the lake, I heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Racetrack!" I turned to see Denton smiling as he approached. From the look on his face, he was surprised to see me. He must not have heard. I quickly finished my hotdog and jumped off the rock, preparing to run, but he caught me.  
  
"Good morning, surprise to see you here. I would have thought you'd be at the races on a fine day like this."  
  
"Why?" I asked him. He frowned, and then noticed my face.  
  
"What happened to you?" I was so tired, tired of everything, I just shook my head.  
  
"Why don't you come back to my apartment and we'll see about getting those bruises taken care of." I nodded, grateful for any kindness.  
  
When we reached his apartment, by taking a cab, something I'd never done before, but was too tired to savor the experience, he set me down and handed me a long cool glass of water and some bread and cheese. I dug in, not having anything but that hotdog for the past day and a half. While I ate, I told him everything. He listened and every once and a while, jotted things down. I felt as if I were being interviewed.  
  
When I told him about my Uncle, he was stunned. "Matthew Higgins is your Uncle?" I nodded.  
  
"Sorta. See, his brudda is me step fadda. He died when I wus nine." That took me back even farther and I ended up spilling my entire life story to him.  
  
When I'd finished, he thought for a long moment. "So what are you going to do now?" I shrugged.  
  
"What can I do? Buy a ticket ta da furdest place I cen get and hope he don't follow me dere."  
  
"Or you could charge him." I glanced at him. He had that same look on his face as the day he first saw the newsies and sniffed out an idea.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's one thing if some factory working bum hits his kids, its another thing altogether when the director for children's labor safety abuses his children."  
  
"But I ain't his kid." I protested.  
  
"Still, you're under his protection. And he hit you, correct?" I nodded. "Sent hired thugs after you to try to get you to come back?" Again, I nodded. " Well, then that seemed like prefect grounds for a headliner." I shook my head.  
  
"It'll neva woik."  
  
But the next day, I was seated in a cab and on my way back to Trenton, Denton at my side, to face my Uncle once and for all. I was scared, so very scared. As we crossed the bridge to the Jersey shore, my hands began to shake.  
  
"I can't do dis," I whispered. " I can't. Make it turn around, Denton. I can't!" Denton shook his head.  
  
"You could offer the toughest judge in the system double or nothing," he said and I smiled, recalling the experience, "You can face your Uncle."  
  
"So what am I supposda do? Offer him a roll?" Denton shrugged.  
  
"When the time comes, you'll know." I groaned, hating that piece of advice. It wasn't much longer before we pulled up in front of the large brick house I'd come to hate. I stared at it, apprehensively as Denton paid the cabby and asked him to wait. Then he placed his hand on my shoulder and we began to walk up the steps.  
  
Without him there, I'm sure I would have run all the way back to Manhattan, but for some reason, my feet seemed to move without commands, up the steps. One at a time, I thought, one at a time.  
  
Denton knocked with a resounding knock that echoed through the old house. The door was opened a few moments later by the same old butler as before. He eyed us for a moment before asking, "May I help you?"  
  
"Yes, I'm looking for Mr. Higgins. I'm Bryan Denton of the New York Sun." He nodded and opened the door to let us in. When I made to go inside he placed his arm in front of me.  
  
"I'm sorry, deliveries in the back." I scowled.  
  
"I ain't no delivery boy. I'se 'era ta see Mr. Higgins now!" And with that I shoved his arm out of the way and marched inside. He looked at me, slightly horrified and I grinned as I lit a cigarette in the hallway. Then he hurried off to fetch my Uncle.  
  
My fear grew, but with it came a sense of determination. I was not the scared little boy I'd been the last time I'd walked this dark dusty hall, and I was going to protect what was mine.  
  
" Hello, Mr. Denton." A very familiar voice echoed through the hall. My Uncle hurried out from the study down the hall and shook Denton's hand. I noticed he hadn't seen me yet. " I read your articles on the newsie strike a few weeks ago. Splendid." He smiled. And Denton nodded.  
  
"Thank you, but actually, the newsies are what brings me here." My Uncle's grin faded just a bit.  
  
"Really?" The reporter nodded and beckoned me over. I stuck my cigarette in my mouth and smiled at him.  
  
"This is a very good friend of mine. You might know him." My uncle's eyes widened and he stared at me. Then he stepped towards me, angry written all over his face.  
  
"Anthony! Where in God's name have you been? I've been worried sick!" I raised my eyebrow and took a long puff. Then I blew the smoke deliberately into his face.  
  
"Whut does it madda ta you?" I asked him. His eyes widened and he grabbed my shoulder.  
  
"I am dreadfully sorry you had to deal with his horrible manners. The boy was raised on the street, and I thank you very much for bringing him back to me." I yanked myself out of his grasp.  
  
"I ain't stayin' 'era! I came ta tell ya sumdin'." He watched me.  
  
"Perhaps it would be best if we went into my study to discuss this, Anthony. I do have guests." He said, cautiously.  
  
"Good!" I shouted. "Lettem hea! Somebody needs ta besides Denton 'era!" he glanced towards the sitting room, nervously.  
  
"If you could keep your voice down, Anthony-"  
  
"I ain't keepin' me voice down fer nobody! Especially you!" I shouted.  
  
"Now you listen here-" he began and I shook my head.  
  
"No, you listen! I ain't yer kid no more! I neva wus! Ya can't control me and ya can't tell me what ta do! I'se me own pioson and I'se gonna do exactly what I wanna!" Once I began, I could hardly stop. Even when I noticed several important looking gentlemen slipping out of the sitting room to watch.  
  
"Now Anthony, I never tried to control you," he began, but I wasn't finished.  
  
" I ain't done yet! I have me own life, it might not be what youse would call grand, but I'se happy! I'se got meself a job, a roof ova me head, food in me belly and I gots me friends and dat's all I need. Dat's all I got! And you ain't takin' dem from me!" Now he seemed so nervous and glanced from me to Denton to the surprised gentlemen in the hall, who were no doubt wondering what a teenage street rat was doing yelling at one of the most important men in New York.  
  
" You'se going to leave dem alone!" I shouted, stepping right up to him and glaring at him. " You'se going to leave me and me pals alone! I ain't done nuttin' ta ya, but I swea, if youse so much as lifts a finger ta close down dat lodging house or anytin' else, God help me, I'll go straight ta da coppas!" I yelled.  
  
"And tell them what?" he asked, getting quite red in the face. " From what I've heard, newsies are not on excellent terms with the police."  
  
" And whose fault is dat? It ain't mine, besides I ain't neva done nuttin' wrong! And ya wanna know what I'll tell 'em? I'll tell 'em what ya did ta me!" I yelled, playing my ace. His mouth turned down and I could see the gears grinding away. "I'll tell 'em dat ya hit me, dat ya starved me and all dose udda tings ya said! I'll tell 'em everytin'! I'm sure dat would look great in da papes. I's can see da headlines now, Head of Child Labor Safety Abuses Own Nephew! Dey'd love dat!" I said, taking another long puff of my cigarette and finishing with a sneer.  
  
His face had turned a deep shade of purple. "You wouldn't dare, you little street rat!"  
  
"Ya wanna bet?" I asked, a smile on my face.  
  
  
  
It was two hours later that I found myself back at the lodging house, while official papers in my pocket, declaring me under the custody of one, Paul Kloppman until the age of twenty-one, a new cigar in my mouth and with my bag over my shoulder.  
  
When I entered, I found all my friends still inside. They were slowly cleaning and packing up. I knew the deadline had passed and they were expecting the bulls any moment. No one saw me at first, but I cleared my throat and Jack looked up.  
  
"Race!" he yelled, before jumping over a bunk to pull me into a tight hug. I could hardly breath as first Jack, and then Blink, Mush, and all the rest dove at me. For a moment, we were all evolved in an all out wrestling match, on the floor, before things calmed down.  
  
"We'se been looking' everywhere fer ya, Race!" Blink said, catching me in a tight hold around my neck while Jack and the other proceeded to laughing and attack themselves and me.  
  
'I dought ya didn't cae." I told them. Jack paused and stared at me.  
  
"Not cae? How could we not cae? You'se one of us!" I smiled weakly, though I was still hurt that they had let me walk out in the first place, but the warm welcome I'd received made up partially for it.  
  
I got to my feet and eyed the half packed trunks and pillowcases. "What's all dis fer?"  
  
Jack got up and moved careful to my side. " Well, he's comin' tonight, ta close us down. We'se gotta move." I smiled.  
  
"Ya guys don't gotta worry bout him no more. He ain't troublin' us no moa, I promise." They never questioned how I knew, but they believed me. And for a long time, things returned to the blissful harmony they had been in for so long. 


	5. A girl and a job, all in the same week

Chapter five  
  
  
  
Another chapter! I hope you like it! This is for you, T.H.! Love your stuff!  
  
Disclaimer: Haven't we been through this enough? Please read and review!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Another year came and went. I was seventeen, Jack eighteen and restless. He was tired of being a newsie, as much as he loved it and us. He no longer wanted to leave us, but wanted something much greater than what he had. He and Sarah wanted nothing more than to get married, but he refused until he could support her properly. Kloppman offered them the use of one of the back rooms, but Jack turned it down.  
  
The building had several larger apartments that had once housed rich folks long before Kloppman had owned the building. They were not occupied and really the only rooms that were lived in, were the boys rooms, which was really one large room, including our washrooms, and Kloppman's rooms off down the hall. Every once and a while, we had a girl pass through and she always stayed in one or another of the back rooms.  
  
It was undeniable, especially with Jack acting like he was. We were growing up. We couldn't remain boys forever, as much as we wanted to. The older members of the newsies felt a need to move on, knowing that one could not sell papes forever. After all, who would buy papes from an old man?  
  
Perhaps, as a result, I began to get more and more careless. I began to bet everything I had on the races, instead of putting a bit aside for" a rainy day." Jack and the others noticed my lack of funds as I began to revert back to my habit of borrowing as much money as possible from as many people as I could and sometimes, I would stand outside, hiding in the shadows until Kloppman locked the doors for the night and I could slip upstairs to my bunk.  
  
I had seen how the races could ruin a man, I had seen it in my own father, and daily in the faces of my customers. But I ignored it. It was a test of my manhood and I had to pass it. For a while, it was very simple, I bummed a quarter off of Jack or Blink or someone and brought my papes. When I was finished selling, I would make my way to the betting office and place my bets. I would put all I had made on the horses, ignoring the fact that I had to buy my papes again the next day. If I won, I was glad, and put the money on a new horse. If I lost, which was much more common, I walked home empty-handed.  
  
Soon, I didn't even bother to try and pay for anything. Jack could frown and worry all he wanted, but every time he tried to talk to me, I would make up some excuse and flee. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I thought that I could stop, anytime I wanted.  
  
I was wrong, so very wrong. It was like crossing a small creek in a pouring rain. Any moment the flood waters could be rushing at you and you would be drowned before you even saw them coming. The water could be up to your neck and you wouldn't even notice until it was too late. And I was about to realize just how deep in I was.  
  
Sooner or later, it would have happened. I hung around the tracks enough. You see, every track has it's big shots and Sheepshead was no exception. Big Johnny Paperelli was a big man, Italian, who dressed in silk suits, and wore a diamond ring on every finger. He had made every penny he had, and he had quite a few of them, on the races and a cocky Italian kid like me was bound to catch his eye someday.  
  
I remember the first time I saw him. I was fourteen, and it was raining. The headline was bad that day, some new tax cut, and I still had twenty papes left. It was freezing and I was shivering in my thin jacket as I shouted the headline in a hoarse voice, this time not faked.  
  
I made up every headline I could think of, but nothing seemed to be working that day. As night came, I headed for home. Sadly, I glared at the papes in my hand, not looking forward to a paper sandwich that night, when I bumped into someone.  
  
I spun around, shocked to see a large man, surrounded by others, one of whom was holding an umbrella over the big mans head. He was watching me. I shut my open mouth and began to cough, pitifully. He frowned and I held up the papes.  
  
"Buy a pape, mista?" I begged, " Only a penny." He stared at me and I felt uncomfortable under that stony gaze.  
  
"How's the headline today, kid?" he asked. His voice was smooth, without a hint of an accent, smooth and cool. I opened my eyes wide, seeing a golden opportunity.  
  
"Great, Miodered female found nea railroad tracks." I said, remembering a story on page seven about a dead horse, beaten to death on the railroad tracks. I said it, then fell into a fit of coughing. He frowned.  
  
"You should be inside on a day like this kid, not out here selling papers." I plastered my most pitiful face on. I wasn't about to let a catch like this go. This guy reeked of money, he could spare a dime.  
  
"I would, mista, but it's me brudda. He's da only one a' us dat woiks, since ma and pop died. But he's sick, mista, and he can't get ouadda bed. Hows he a'poseda feed me little sis? I'se gotta." I coughed again for good measure and stared up at him, eyes misty.  
  
To my surprise, he laughed. I frowned as did the men around me. He laughed loud and long, until I became a bit worried. I began to back away. Before I could get very far, he stopped me.  
  
"You're good kid, very good. You almost had me fooled." I gazed up at him.  
  
"Who says I'se foolin?" I asked, drawing myself up to my full height, hardly over five feet at the time. He shook his head.  
  
"What's your name, kid?" I paused, unsure of giving my name to this big shot who carried an air of danger about him,  
  
"Da boss axed ya a question, kid." one of the bums beside him growled. I backed away, even less anxious now and wanting nothing more than to go home.  
  
"Now Al, you're scaring him." he leaned over to look at me, "Now tell me your name." His eyes were hypnotizing.  
  
"Racetrack, Racetrack Higgins." I said softly. He smiled. `  
  
"See, that wasn't so hard. How old are you, Racetrack?" Younger sells more papes, I remembered Blinks words.  
  
"Twelve." He shook his head, and gave me that cool stare again. "Foateen." He patted my head.  
  
"You'll go far, kid. Al, buy his papes." The crony stared at him.  
  
"All a' dem?"  
  
"All of them. This kid needs to get home and out of the rain." He bought every last pape, and everyday after that, if I was there, hawkin' the headlines when he came in, he bought a pape and always tipped me. Once, he gave me a whole half dollar for just one pape!  
  
But to get back to later, he owned the tracks, maybe not officially, but it should have been, because Big Johnny Paparelli owned Sheapshead. And everyone knew it He knew everything that happened there. He was bound to notice me placing all the bets I did. And before I knew it, I was in so very much deeper than I'd ever wanted to be.  
  
I owed money, everywhere, from Big Johnny to Jack, and I had no intention of paying it back. Big Johnny was kind hearted enough to let four or five bucks slide when it came to his favorite newsie, but his boys were not.  
  
One night, I made the mistake of betting all my earnings in a high stakes poker game with Phillip Vincingaurra, a tough boy, new to Johnny's gang and unwilling to let any bets go outstanding. I lost, horribly and promised to pay him back, not knowing what I was getting myself into.  
  
I soon found myself getting notes delivered by post, found myself getting shadowed at night. Even into the day, strange men followed me. Jack noticed, of course, and demanded to know everything. I refused, saying I knew nothing, but I began to grow afraid. I jumped at strange noises and shadows.  
  
Finally, one night as I made my way home, I was jumped by two men, one was Phillip who soaked me good and took what little money I had with me. They told me I had two days to deliver the rest or I'd be taking a one way ride. This terrified the hell out of me and I spilled everything to Jack the moment I walked in the door. Jack decided there was only one way to solve this, since it was obvious I would never get twenty bucks in two days, and he marched me all the way to Big Johnny's hotel.  
  
After putting up quite a fuss, we were finally allowed into his private rooms. Jack and I stood in awe of the splendor in which this man lived. He greeted me like a son, worrying over my bruises, but he treated Jack coldly.  
  
"He's me best pal, Johnny. He's da one who told me ta come 'era." And with that, I slowly told him everything. He listened patiently before summoning Phillip and scolding him for soaking a kid, who he knew could never pay him back. He blamed him for raising the stakes that high and that it was crooks like him who gave Italians such a bad name. Then he banished everyone but me from the room.  
  
"Sorry about that, Racetrack." He sighed. I shook my head.  
  
"Ain't da foist time I'se been soaked. Won't be da last." I told him. He sighed again and looked out over the river.  
  
"It's beautiful, you know?" I moved closer to the window and looked out over the city, with it's flaring lamps just beginning to be lit and the whole city twinkling in the darkness. It was a sight I had seen many times before, and always loved.  
  
"Yeah, sia." I said softly.  
  
"I will miss it." he said.  
  
"Miss it, sia? Why?" he looked at me.  
  
"This city's getting a bit too hot for me, Racetrack. I need to move on, find somewhere new." I smiled, knowing what he meant.  
  
"I hope ya do, Johnny." He turned and looked at me.  
  
"You're a good kid, Race. Too good for this business. You stay where you are for now. I have a feeling you and me are in for very different fates." He put his hand on my shoulder and I smiled.  
  
"Dank ya." He turned to look outside again, and I decided it was good to leave, but before I went I asked him.  
  
"Where will ya go?" he grinned at me.  
  
"I hear Chicago is lovely this time of year." And with that I closed the door behind me, and with it, I closed the door on my brief but violent moment with what would one day be known as the Mob.  
  
Johnny did move to Chicago, and last I heard, he had a great thing going for him. I went back to limiting my bets to safe bets and just selling my papes. Things went back to normal, though I knew they couldn't stay that way for long.  
  
I knew things were going to change. I just didn't know how much they would change or that 1901 would be just as exciting as 1899, but with a much happier ending. The year had come and gone and it was just before Christmas, the city sparkling with light and good cheer, and good will towards men. And as the people hustled and bustled about, getting everything ready for the festive season, orphans like us were forgotten.  
  
Perhaps it all started that day in Central Park. The races at Sheepshead were closed for the day. A harsh winter storm had blown in the day before, rattling the windows of the ancient lodging house until we thought they would break apart and shatter into a million pieces. The freezing wind whipped around the corners of the building and howled like a demon bent on the desecration and havoc the fierce wind was causing, screaming its fury at the world.  
  
I once saw a woman jump off of the Brooklyn Bridge when I was thirteen. Just before she fell, she began to tell the world every fear that she'd ever had, every dream she'd ever had dashed against the rocks, every nightmare that had come true. By the end, all that was coming out of her mouth was one long horrid scream, never ending, never beginning, just one solid note, letting the world notice her for one final moment, before leaping into the icy waters below. The ordeal haunted me for mouths and I often awoke to Jack shaking me, telling me I was yelling out in my own dreams. This wind reminded me of that woman.  
  
The smaller boys climbed into the beds of the older ones, trying so hard not to admit their fear, while the older ones did their best to keep them calm. I do believe, that at one point, I had four boys, all under the age of ten, in my small bottom bunk. When we left the next morning, we were shocked to see broken bits of signs and awning in the streets, overturned carts, and destruction everywhere. It was one of the worst windstorms to hit the city in over a decade.  
  
Anyway, the racetrack was far too disheveled to be used that day, and I was forced to spend my day hawkin' papes by Central Park, instead. The park was usually Blink's territory, but he was more than willing to share with me for one day. So we took opposite ends and began to call out the day's headlines. I took the end towards the river, I loved the sea air, through if that's something I got from my Ma, her having lived by the sea her whole life, I don't know.  
  
The day had gone smoothly, and I had only a few more papes left as the sun began to sink deeper in the sky. I paused to light a cigar, my last of the day, and sat down on a rock, my three unsold papes beside me. I sat, watching the sun set over the bay, admiring the colors of blue, orange, red, purple, and so many others all blending together to make one special mixture every night that could never be repeated, no matter how hard you try.  
  
In that moment, I longed for someone to sit beside me, to hold in my arms and watch the sun go down and the stars come out with me. I remembered what Jack had told me that morning.  
  
As we had hurried out through the debris-strewn streets, Jack had pulled me aside.  
  
"Hey Race, I wanna tell ya sumtin' befora de uddas know." I nodded.  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"I'se bought a place." I stared at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'se got a place. It ain't much, but it looks ova da riva, and it ain't far away." I shook my head.  
  
"But how can you'se afford it? Ya can't, not on a newsie's wages." He shook his head.  
  
"Dis week is me last." I stared at him; unable to believe he was really leaving us. But I swallowed hard and smiled, knowing how much this meant to him. This meant he could marry Sarah, start a family, be a regular guy.  
  
"So whuddcha going to do?" He sighed and we began to walk, slowly.  
  
"Rememba dat day when I'se was draggin' around dat old camera fer Denton?" I nodded. " I took a few pictures, just fer fun. And Denton, he saw dem. And he took dem ta his editoa, and he liked 'em. So much he gave me a job. You'se looking' at de future photographea fer da New Yolk Sun." I stared at him.  
  
"You'se lyin'!" He shook his head, grinning like a child.  
  
"I ain't, Race! I swear!" But I knew he wasn't, he was too happy. So I smiled again.  
  
"Congratulations, Jacky boy. I hope ya do great." Then I turned and began to make my way towards the distribution office, my head bowed, hands buried deep inside my pockets and my feet shuffling.  
  
"Race!" jacks voice echoed as he hurried up to me. " You'se ain't mad at me, right?" He looked so worried that I had to laugh and tell him no. " Good, " he said, sharing a grin, " because da best man can't be mad at da groom befoira da weddin'." I stared at him in shock.  
  
"Best man? I ain't no best man materiel! Davy, he's a good best man. Me', wudda I know?" I asked, shaking my hand and waving my arms.  
  
"You'se me best pal, Race." Jack said smiling. " I don't want nobody else, but youse." I smiled, shakily, knowing Jack would not take no for an answer, but wanting nothing more than to scream the word.  
  
And now, I saw seated on a cold rock, my arms wrapped around me tightly trying to protect me from the cold. I didn't have a coat, none of us did. One winter we had all pulled our money and bought Crutchy a decent winter coat, as he was always getting sick. He still had it and I'm sure, felt bad that none of us did. But my thoughts were suddenly and unexpectedly interrupted by a small hand, yanking on my arm.  
  
I turned to see a small boy, perhaps eight or nine, dressed in warm clothes, and looking mighty healthy, despite that fact that he was shivering violently. His eyes were a startling shade of gray, almost white, and now they were looking at me with fear and an almost hidden delight.  
  
"Yeah?" I asked.  
  
" Can you help me, sir?" I frowned; his voice had a strange accent. It was much like our neighbors, the Hawkins's, an English family from London who had bought the house next door several month's ago. It was like that, but much more refined, much more smooth and flowing.  
  
"Sura, whut's da problem?" I asked, slipping down off the rock. He looked frightened and glanced at his feet.  
  
"I am sorry to trouble you, but I think I am lost." I smiled.  
  
"Lemme guess, youse new?" I asked. He frowned and cocked his head.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Da ya knew yer address?" he nodded.  
  
"51 Park Avenue." I leaned back, my eyebrows raised. I had been right, this kid had money. And lots of it if he lived on Park Avenue. This was a kid I would never be, that none of my friends, that my children would ever be. This was a kid that would be getting mounds of presents for Christmas before settling down to a large meal with more food than any of them could eat, while we scrimped and saved every penny we had to buy a few little toys or pieces of candy for the little ones, before going out, even on Christmas, to carry the banner. This was the child who had everything we, and our children, never would.  
  
But he looked so lost, so frightened, that I took pity on him. I couldn't just leave him out here; he'd be eaten alive once the sun went down.  
  
"Come on." I said, " I'll take ya home." He followed me, watching me with an interested gaze. As soon as we began moving, his mouth began to move also.  
  
"So what's yer name?" I asked him.  
  
"Thomas James Crewe, what's yours?" I glared at him.  
  
"Why?" I was not in the practice of telling my name to little rich boys.  
  
"Why not? I told you mine. It's only fair that you tell me yours." I rolled my eyes.  
  
"Racetrack, Racetrack Higgins." I said. He paused and stared at me, his eyes wide and looking as if he'd just been given a great treasure.  
  
"Racetrack?" he repeated, " your name is Racetrack?" I nodded. "Well, that's, that's amazing! Your mother named you Racetrack?" I laughed.  
  
"A course not, kid! But it's me name, and dat's dat." Then we continued walking again. I could feel him watching me as we walked. I glanced at him, uneasy under that sharp gaze.  
  
"Whut?" I asked, finally getting annoyed.  
  
"Why do you talk like that?" he asked.  
  
"Like whut?" I asked.  
  
"Like that. It's so strange."  
  
"Well, youse sounds strange ta me, ya eva dought a dat?" He smiled.  
  
"Perhaps I do, I never thought of that." I couldn't help smiling too.  
  
"Ya hungry?" I asked as we passed a hotdog stand. He nodded. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the few cents I had. I counted it up, making sure I put aside enough for my papes tomorrow, and for my room that night. I had fifteen cents left over. I walked over to the stand and ordered two hotdogs for the both of us.  
  
When I handed the boy his, he stared at it, unsure of what to do. He watched me as I bit down, savoring the flavor. It had been a while since I'd had one and I always loved them. Unsteadily, he took a bite. Then, as he chewed, his eyes grew wide and he almost pushed the whole thing into his mouth. I laughed.  
  
"Slow down, kid! Ya don't wanna choke!" He grinned and began to chew.  
  
We walked in silence until we reached Park Avenue. I nodded.  
  
"Ya know which ones yers?" He nodded and hurried down the street to a tall brownstone, bigger than the lodging house. He pushed the door open and hurried inside. I sighed and turned to head off, but I heard his voice call out.  
  
"Racetrack! Come here!" I frowned and made my way up the steps, shivering in the cold wind. He beckoned me into the warm hall and I held my papes close as an old man in a uniform closed the door behind me. The hall ceiling was high and it was filled with old paintings and sculptures, all ancient and foreboding.  
  
A loud voice came from the next room and a tall man with graying hair and a thin face hurried out of the room closest to us, scooping the boy up in a tight hug. A woman with long light hair, all piled up on her head, and dressed in a fine dress of silk and cloth roses, and a girl with the same hair, dressed in a much plainer frock, but still just as fine, were next and the woman grabbed him from the man, I figured for his father and held him tight, sobbing. I backed away slowly, pulling my cap off my head and felt behind me for the doorknob, not wanting to intrude.  
  
"Racetrack!" His voice broke through the dim and he rushed to pull me forward to face his family.  
  
"Mother, father, this is Racetrack, he saved me." I grinned uneasily. I didn't like grand houses, they made me uncomfortable. The parents watched me scrutiny. I felt extremely nervous under their sharp gazes. I knew they couldn't be too happy to have a dirty short Italian in their entrance hall.  
  
"Racetrack?" the father asked. I nodded.  
  
"Yeah, mista, dat's me name." He smiled gently and held out his hand. I took it and he held it in a hearty handshake.  
  
" My name is Jonathon Crewe. Well, I must thank you for bringing Thomas home, Mr. Racetrack."  
  
"Ah, it weren't nuttin sia. I couldn't jist leave 'em out dere. It's too dangerous."  
  
"Dangerous?" the mother asked, her hand over her mouth.  
  
"Well, yeah. " I shrugged. " Beggin' yer pardon, lady. But he's a dead giveaway fer anybody who'd want a quick victim. I becha you'da found him in da morning, wid no money and badly soaked, if ya'd found him at all."  
  
"Soaked?" she asked again, unsure of the word.  
  
"Soaked, it means hiot, beaten, robbed, whudeva." She gasped and held her boy close to her. I shifted under her horrified gaze and moved my papes from one hand to the other. Mr. Crewe noticed them.  
  
"Are those today's papers?" he asked. I nodded. " Oh good, I forgot to get one today." I handed him the papes and he handed me a coin. I had almost pocketed it when I noticed it was not a penny. I gazed in shock at the half dollar piece in my hand. Then I shook my head.  
  
"Nah, sia, I can't take dis! Da papes only a penny!" he shook his head.  
  
"You deserve it, take it." I stared at it, unsure of what to do. " Besides I'm sure it's more than you would otherwise make." I shook my head.  
  
" No, mista. I ain't neva made dis much sellin' da papes." Then I noticed the woman glaring at me.  
  
"Tell you what." He said, smiling again, " why don't you leave those papers on the entrance table and I can see if anyone in the house wants them." I smiled and nodded.  
  
"Harry," she whispered, putting a hand on his arm and frowning disapprovingly.  
  
"Thank you," she said dismissingly. I nodded and placed the papes he wanted on the table, before yanking the door open. The wind was colder and I shivered violently, before turning to pull the door closed. But I saw Mr. Crewe frowning greatly and I shivered again, before closing the door. I pulled my arms tight around me, before trudging down the street.  
  
Clouds had gathered quickly and snow was now falling from the sky in thick flakes, covering the world faster than I could walk. I glanced around, looking for a carriage for a quick ride over the many blocks to the lodging house. Not one was in sight. I groaned and shuffled forward, shivering violently. I coughed harshly, after inhaling the frightfully frigid air into my lungs.  
  
"Mr. Racetrack!" Slowly, I turned at the sound of my name. The man was behind me hurrying to meet me. I wrapped my arms around me and shuddered. Mr. Crewe met me and held something out to me.  
  
"You forgot your cap." I nodded, and smiled.  
  
"Tanks." I took the cap and put in on my head, before turning to walk slowly away. But he placed a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked, his face worried.  
  
"Back home." I told him.  
  
"And where is that?" I told him and he shook his head.  
  
"You'll never make it, not in this storm." I shook my head, shivering again.  
  
"It's alright. I can do it." He eyed me carefully.  
  
"Where is your coat, young man?" I shrugged.  
  
"Don't got one." I pulled my vest closer around me. He shook his head and placed an arm around my shoulders.  
  
"You're coming home with me this instant. I will not let you wander off into this storm." I pulled back. The Higgins's did not take charity.  
  
"I'se fine, Mr. Crewe. It ain't nuttin I ain't done befora." A harsh wind whipped around the corner just then and it nearly knocked me over with its power. I was cold beyond all power of feeling anything else and my willpower died with it. Then I allowed him to pull me back into the house.  
  
The sudden warmth was a blessing, but I still couldn't stop shivering. Mr. Crewe ordered a blanket and a cup of warm milk brought. Before I knew it, I was wrapped in several blankets, seated in a large chair in front of a blazing fire. Mrs. Crewe did not seem overjoyed to see me, but little Thomas was jumping up and down in front of his parents when he was told that I would be staying until the storm died down.  
  
I curled up in front of the large fireplace, staring into the fireplace. A sound on my right made me lift my head up. A girl entered, I paid little attention to her at first, but when she cleared her throat, I lifted my head and my heart stopped.  
  
She was beautiful. She was the girl I previously mentioned, but paid little attention. Her long reddish hair was tied behind her in one long curl, and her eyes were the same crystal clear color as her brothers. Her skin was pale, and her figure quite curvaceous. She smiled shyly and handed me a warm mug.  
  
"It's milk," she said, her voice as sweet as a larks, "hot as it will help warm you up." I nodded my thanks and sipped it.  
  
"Danks." I whispered. She eyed me carefully.  
  
"Why don't you have a coat?" she asked. " It's dreadfully cold out."  
  
"Can't afford one." I told her, in between sip. She sighed.  
  
"I am sorry you can't afford one, but I'm not sorry that you are here. It's better than freezing in the streets." I shook my head.  
  
"I gots me a place. It jist ain't in dis parta town." She smiled and settled into the chair next to me.  
  
"My name is Victoria." She held out her hand and smiled gently.  
  
"Racetrack Higgins." I told her, taking her hand and kissing it with my cold lips. She shivered.  
  
"You are cold." I smiled, and she grinned back. " How old are you?" she asked.  
  
"Seventeen." I told her. She cocked her head and grinned.  
  
"I'm sixteen." I smiled, then shivered again. She frowned and knelt over me and felt my forehead.  
  
"You feel hot, perhaps you should get in bed." I shook my head.  
  
"Nah, I been woise den dis befora. " I tired to tell her, but she refused to listen. She reached up and pulled a cord. In seconds a man appeared.  
  
"Yes, Miss Victoria?" he asked. She stood up.  
  
"Rochester. Fetch me another blanket and inform your wife that she needs to prepare one of the guest rooms." He nodded and bowed his way out of the room. I watched, surprised.  
  
"Ya jist tell 'em ta do sumtin' and dey do it?" I asked her. She nodded.  
  
"They're servants. It's what they do." I frowned and was about to say something else when the door burst open and Mrs. Crewe entered, her face red and her manner flustered.  
  
"Victoria, what is this I heard you telling Rochester?"  
  
"I told him to prepare one of the guest rooms. Is there a problem with that?" she said, rather stiffly.  
  
"Yes, there is a problem! That boy," she pointed at me and I flinched, " is not staying in this house over night. He'll rob us blind!" At this, I leapt to my feet.  
  
"I ain't gonna do nuttin'! I neva stole nuttin in me life and you ain't got no right ta accuse me!" Mr. Crewe hurried into the room just as the words came out of my mouth.  
  
"What is going on?"  
  
"Jonathon, you can't let him stay in this house! He's a common begger!"  
  
"I ain't no begga!" I yelled. Victoria placed a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Sit down, Mr. Higgins! You'll make yourself ill!" I shook my head. Mr. Crewe tried to calm his wife.  
  
"Rebecca, look outside. It's snowing. I can't send the boy out into that storm. He'll never make it. He must stay for the night." She shook her head.  
  
"He's a filthy street rat!" I growled and clenched my fist and moved toward her, but Victoria held me back.  
  
"Sit down!" she ordered. Mr. Crewe pulled his wife aside and whispered to her, quickly and harshly. I fell back into my chair, feeling faint and angry. Victoria pulled a thick blanket off the floor and placed it around my shoulders. I glared at the Crewes as they argued and Mrs. Crewe threw up her hands and stormed out of the room. Mr. Crewe shook his head and left as well. Victoria sighed and took my arm as she led me upstairs and into a smaller, but comfortable bedroom. There, she helped me take off my shoes and vest and as soon as I crawled into the warm blankets and laid my head down on the soft pillow, I was asleep.  
  
The next time I opened my eyes, something was wrong. I could barely breath and my head felt so heavy. I pried my eyes open to see Victoria peering at me, along with another man I'd never seen before. He smiled at me.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Higgins, how are you feeling?" he asked. I shook my head.  
  
" Fine." Then I moved to push back the covers and get out of bed. Strong hands pulled me back and I struggled weakly against them.  
  
"Let me go! I gotta woik!" I moaned.  
  
"You are not going anywhere. Not in your condition." The man said.  
  
"Condition?" I asked, still fighting to get out of the bed.  
  
"Yes, you're quite ill. It's a good thing you were here already. You might have fallen ill in the streets." I stared at him, unable to comprehend.  
  
"But I gotta sell me papes." I murmured, not even resisting as they pushed me back into bed and I drifted off.  
  
The next I awoke, there was not a sound and the room was pitch black. It was nighttime, have that I was sure. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, testing my strength. They held me up and I slipped on my shoes and vest as quietly as I could. Then I slipped down the stairs and quickly made for the door. Not a sound came as I slipped out the door and into the streets. The snow as high, though it wasn't as cold. I found a cabby making his way towards the docks and I slipped on the back. When I reached my street, I jumped off and slipped up the fire escape and through the window.  
  
All the other boys were sleeping and I made not a sound as I climbed into bed. I pulled my thin blanket up to my chin and slept.  
  
In the morning, when he woke up and found me there, Jack scolded me about running off, until Ipulled the covers over my head and told him, in no uncertain terms, to go away. Jack felt my forehead and frowned. Kloppman brought a cold cloth for my head and let me sleep that day, every so often waking me up to give me some broth or cold water.  
  
That night, the others kept their voices down and let me rest, probably under Jack's orders. But the next morning, I began to feel better and insisted that I was fine enough to sell. Jack refused, telling me that if I did not remain in bed, he was having Kloppman tie me down. I lay back down, pouting and remained that way until long after they'd left. Then I rolled over and went back to sleep.  
  
That night, when my friends returned, I told them all about my adventure. Some believed me, some didn't. but Jack said nothing. I could tell he was angry with me for vanishing, and worrying him, but he said nothing, except to tell me I could go out the next day under the condition that someone sell with me. I frowned, but accepted. I disliked selling with other people, but there were some tricks that needed partners for that I enjoyed pulled.  
  
To my surprise, when I climbed onto the back of a carriage to make my way up to the bay, Jack was right beside me.  
  
"I ain't been up ta da races widcha in a while." He said, shifting nervously. I smiled.  
  
"Jack, ya ain't neva been at da races wid me." He refused to look at me.  
  
"Well, it's time I went den." I sighed.  
  
"Whut da ya wanna know, Jack?" He shook his head.  
  
"Just don't worry me like dat again, Race. I don't like it." I rolled my eyes.  
  
"I ain't a kid no more, Jack. Ya don't gots ta take care of me no more. I cen take care of meself." Jack smiled and pushed my cap over my eyes.  
  
"I know, I know. But youse like the little brudda I neva had. And I'm going to be leavin'. Whose going to watch out fer ya, and make sure ya don't waste all yer money at da tracks?" I smiled gently at him, knowing exactly how he felt.  
  
"I cen look afta meself. You jist worry bout youse and Sarah."  
  
We rode the rest of the way in silence before jumping off the back at Coney Island. We struck a deal and made our way around the track, starting at opposite ends. I waved good morning to several of my regulars and by midday, both Jack and I were out of papes.  
  
He was grinning as we were laughing together, like old times, as we cheered on our horse. When it was over, I walked over to the booth to collect my winnings. The operator grinned at me.  
  
"Have a good day, Race?" I nodded. " Whose your friend? He going to be betting anything today?" I shook my head.  
  
"Nah, Jack don't bet on da races." Jack grinned.  
  
"Nah, I prefer at keep my money in me pockets." We turned to leave just as a voice called out to me. A very familiar voice.  
  
"Racetrack!" I saw a small blur of child and felt a small body wrap their arms around my legs. I looked down to see Thomas, grinning up at me.  
  
"Thomas!" I gasped, surprise to see him, " whudda ya doin' 'era?"  
  
"My father's here! He brought me to see the horses. I didn't know we'd find you here." Then he turned and began calling into the crowd. "Father!" I groaned and fought to detangle myself from his grasp, but failed. Jack frowned nervously and I motioned for him to help me.  
  
"Well, look who it is. Good morning, Mr. Higgins." I inwardly groaned, but forced a smile.  
  
" Mornin' Mr. Crewe." I said nervously. Jack inched back into the crowd. I moved to follow him, very slowly, but Mr. Crewe placed a hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Very glad to see you're alright, my boy. You gave Victoria quite a fright." I looked up nervously, confused as to how the very mention of her name could make me want to stay.  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Of course!" he laughed, " There when she went to bed, gone when she awoke. We had a fair time convincing her that you hadn't died and been carried out in the night."  
  
"Why would he a' died?" I looked up to see Jack coming closer now, a look of anger and annoyance etched onto his face.  
  
"Uh, Mr. Crewe, dis is me pal Jack Kelly. Jack, Mr. Crewe." Jack shook his hand, but looked just as angry.  
  
"So why would he a' died?" He asked again.  
  
"Well, he was ill, almost collapsed in the street, he did." Jack turned his furious gaze on me. I shook my head.  
  
"It weren't nuttin' deadly, Jack! Jist a fevea, ya saw it. Dat's all, I swea!" He frowned.  
  
"Race, youse and me, we're gonna have a talk when we get home. In fact," he said, grabbing my shirt, " why don't we get oudda here before dere's no more coaches and we'se godda walk." And with that, he pulled me off into the crowd. He didn't let go of me till we'd almost reached the stables, by the entrance. Then I yanked out of his grasp.  
  
"Whut wus dat foir, Jack?" I asked, glaring at him and straightening my jacket.  
  
"I don't like it, Race. He ain't whut he seems, I don't like it. Youse stay away from dem." I scowled and would have said more had a scream not broken out from the stables nearby. We rushed towards the sound of the woman's scream, towards the stables, only to be pushed aside by a fleeing crowd. Jack grabbed me and we hurried off to the side, waiting till the crowd had thinned out a bit. Then we rushed forward.  
  
We were stopped suddenly, by the image of a huge runaway stallion galloping straight for us. Jack and I dove for cover, but I was back on my feet in an instant.  
  
"Race!" Jack yelled, but I couldn't hear. I was moving on autopilot as I raced straight for the horse. It had been cornered in a gate, but was kicking and rearing in such a violent way that not a soul could get close. Men were standing around, preventing anyone to come close. But I ducked under their arms and rushed forward.  
  
"No! Race!" I could still hear Jack scream, but I couldn't stop now. I rushed towards the horse, and caught onto the rope someone had managed to wrap around his neck. He reared, but I ducked. His neigh was horrible and frightened, almost frantic. I backed away a bit, not noticing anything but the giant black horse in front of me.  
  
"Whoa dere, boy. Whuddsa madda?" I whispered. He reared again and nickered loudly. I moved back a step and held up my hands.  
  
"I ain't gona hoitcha. I promise. I jist wanna help ya." This time he didn't rear, but backed off a bit. He seemed to calm just a bit. The words were coming out of my mouth without my notice. My whole concentration was focused on this one task.  
  
"Dat's it, boy. Don't worry. Just relax." I took a tentative step forward and he stepped back. I held up my hands again.  
  
"Sorry, I'm jist tryin ta help ya, but if ya don't want it, I won't." When I took one more step, this time he did not back away. I took one more step, then another, and still he remained. Finally, I could reach his bridle, but I made no move to.  
  
"Dere, see? I ain't era' ta hoitcha. Jist keep still, and youse going to go back ta yer warm bed and have sumdin' good ta eat. It's more den I'll have. Trust me, it ain't so bad. Yer lucky." Then, very slowly, he leaned his hand over and nudged my shoulder with it. I laughed and took hold of his bridle. When I moved, he followed, as tame as any pony. It was when I turned around that I saw the large crowd gathered, watching me with amazed and frightened faces, though Jack's held a look of surprised humor.  
  
A man moved forward slowly and took the bridle I handed him. I glanced around nervously at the many faces watching me, and all whispering. I heard my name several times and the next instant, a copburst through the crowd, a second too late. In that instant in which he demanded to know what had transpired, Jack had yanked me away and we were on a coach on and on our way home.  
  
He did not say one word the whole time, and I kicked my legs like a boy, filled with a strange excitement. When we reached Tibby's we jumped off and joined our friends in treating ourselves to a nice meal.  
  
The next day, as I waited for my papes, Jack shouted to me. We were lined up and laughing and joking as we waited.  
  
"Hey Race! Youse in da papes!" There was a moment of silence, before we all crowded around Jack, who was holding the morning edition. Sure enough, underneath the headline, reading Runaway Horse Calmed by Mysterious Boy, was a picture of me, a blurry one, but me all the same. I was holding out my hand to a rearing horse.  
  
The boys laughed and crowded around, all slapping me on the back and congratulating me. I stared at it, shocked. I'd been in the papes only once in my life, that day during the strike. In one of Denton's articles I'd been mentioned because I'd helped organize the rally that never made the papes.  
  
When I reached the racetrack that day, looks followed me everywhere. I felt odd, selling a pape with myself on the front. I felt eyes on me as I fought to call out every headline, but that one.  
  
It was near lunch time, when, as I called out the headlines, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around to see a tall man with burly man and a thick mustache. He was grinned under a fiery red face and twinkling eyes. A bowler hat sat upon his head. I leaned back, trying to make a break for it, if need.  
  
"Ah, no need to be afraid boy." He said, laughing. I frowned and stared at him. He held out his hand. "Tobias McKenna." He said. Slowly, I took his hand and shook it.  
  
"You're Racetrack Higgins, right?" This time I did step back. He laughed, a great jolly sound. "You needn't be afraid, boy. The bookie told me your name. Says you've been coming here for a long time. I'm not here to hurt you. In fact I'm here at give you the chance of a lifetime." He waved around the track.  
  
"You come here everyday. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't hear your voice hawkin' the headlines."  
  
"Dis is me sellin' spot. Dat's why dey call me Racetrack." I told him. he nodded.  
  
"And how long have you been a newsie, Racetrack?" I shrugged.  
  
"Coupla yeas. Why?"  
  
"Well," he said as if he couldn't wait to say the words that were bursting to come out, " I saw you with that horse yesterday. You got talent, kid." I shrugged.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So that horse is the meanest, most foul tempered beast in the barn, yet you had him eating out of your hand." I stared at him and leaned over to pull a cigarette out of my pocket. I lit it and frowned at him, taking a long calming puff.  
  
"It wus nuttin'."  
  
"No, no, that was something. That was something the horses current trainer can never do. But you can."  
  
"So what's yer point? Ya got one, cause I need ta sell me papes." I turned away and picked up my papes.  
  
"My point is I'm offering you a job." I stopped in mid step, frozen and unsure of what I'd heard. Slowly, I turned back.  
  
"Youse what?" I asked slowly. He was beaming, his great red face getting redder.  
  
"I'm offering you a job. No more hawking headlines. How would you like to train Dancer?"  
  
"Danca?" I asked, my voice unsteady.  
  
"The horse. The other jockeys could show you the ropes, teach you what to do. But Dancer is yours to train. Pays two dollars a day to start." It was all I could do just to nod and accept the hand he offered me. There was no way I was passing up two buck a day over the lousy fifty cents I usually made.  
  
"But I gotta still sell me papes." I told him. "If I don't, I ain't got a place ta stay." He nodded.  
  
"You can sell your papes, as you call them, here. Then when you finish, just head right on over to the barn." I nodded.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, Racetrack. I'll see you tomorrow." I nodded again, a big grin plastered on my face. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day to say the least. 


	6. Hatred runs deep

Chapter six  
  
I just have to say thank you for the reviews! I really appreciate them.  
  
One little note before we get on with the story. A historical note that is.  
  
  
  
In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, New York was full of immigrants from all over the world. The ones born in America often looked down on the new Americans and treated them as if they were inferior in all ways. This included the blacks, the Germans, polish, Jews, and almost all the others. But two very discriminated minorities were the Irish and the Italians.  
  
Because of this, the Italians and the Irish were very hostile towards each other, competing for jobs, opportunities, and living space in a harsh world that wanted neither. This chapter deals a bit with the racial tensions between the two, and you can see how a friendship can transcend the borders of racial tension. These are a few terms you might come up against and the definitions behind them.  
  
1.1 Grease Ball/Bag- Greeks/Italians/Hispanics- Possibly because of the grease they sometimes put in their hair or because of the types of food they make. Also: Greaser  
  
Ginney/Guinea- Pronounced "gi-nee." Came from "Guinea Negro" and originally referred to any Black or any person of mixed ancestry. This dates back to the 1740's. By the 1890s it was being applied to Italians--almost certainly because they tend to have darker skin than Anglo-Saxons/Germans. By 1911 the term began being applied to Hispanics, although the reference to Italians is the most common.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That night, I couldn't stop dreaming. I dreamt of that one time Pop had taken me out to Long Island and we'd hired a few horses and Ma, Pop, and me spent hours galloping down the beaches, laughing to our hearts content. The next morning, the other newsies seemed surprised when I only bought thirty papes instead of my usual fifty.  
  
"Wassa madda, Race?" Jack asked. I shook my head.  
  
"Running a bit low, dat's all."  
  
I sold my papes faster than I ever had before, making up headlines right and left before dashing off before my customers realized their gullibility. Then I made my way over to the large barn where the horses where kept. I pushed the door open and walked inside.  
  
It was huge, with a large arena inside for training, and hundreds of stalls. I slowly made my way down the endless rows before bumping into a tall skinny man with dark red hair and a top hat. He frowned down at me with his thin mouth and dull eyes.  
  
"Kids ain't allowed in 'era." He growled.  
  
"I ain't no kid." I said. " I'se 'era fer woirk." He laughed, a thin sound and grabbed my collar.  
  
"Get out, kid."  
  
"Hey, Toby! Let 'em go" a cheerful voice called out. We turned to see a tall man with a bright red stock of hair and a laughing open face rush up to meet him. He took my arm. "He's that new kid, the one that starts today." I nodded.  
  
He took my arm and led me down a row off empty stalls. " Sorry bout that." He laughed. "Toby is rather grumpy today. Of course, he always is." He laughed at his own joke.  
  
"You must be Racetrack Higgins." I nodded. "I'm Jake McKenna, Tobias's kid brother. I supervise all the jockeys and trainers, while my brother just owns the lot. He seems to have high hopes for you." I frowned.  
  
"Fer me? Why?" he laughed again.  
  
"Why because of the way you handled Dancer! He won't let just anyone touch him. A higher or grander horse, I never did see." He stopped suddenly. "Well, here he is."  
  
I stared through the stall at the large black horse. He seemed even bigger and blacker than he had the day before. He was pacing his stall back and forth with a good amount of energy, nickering and neighing for all to hear, raging like a storm.  
  
"La tempesta." I whispered. Jake blinked at me.  
  
"What?" I glanced at him.  
  
"La tempesta. It means storm." I told him, never taking my eyes off the magnificent creature.  
  
"You're Italian, then." It wasn't a question. But the voice didn't change, it didn't slow or sound angry or disgusted as so many Irish voices did.  
  
"Half." I whispered, still staring at the horse. "Can I-" I paused.  
  
"Can you what?" came the voice that hadn't changed a bit.  
  
"Can I take him out?" he laughed.  
  
"Of course you can. He's all yours." Slowly, I drew the bolt and stepped inside. The horse paused in its prancing and stood, watching me, as still as anything. I made no move and only watched him back, letting him know that, while I did not fear him, I wished him no harm.  
  
"Hello." I whispered. "Rememba me? I came ta see ya again. I'se going to be woikin' widcha from now on. How'd ya like dat?" He nicked and tossed his head. I reached into my pocket and found the apple I'd swiped that morning.  
  
"Broughtcha sumtin'." And I held out my hand. He took a tentative step forward, then walked right up to me and grabbed the apple out of my hands. I laughed as he slobbered on my hand and shoved me slightly with his strong neck. He let me pet him and I slowly took the bridle out and slipped it over his neck. He didn't like it, but I calmed him with a few words. Then I led him out into the ring.  
  
I became aware, after a bit, of a following I'd attached, as I led him out. All the other jockeys paused in their training as I led him to the arena and slowly, pulled up a box. I heard scattered whispering and frightened words. But no one made a move to stop me. I moved slowly and placed La Tempesta, as I called him, in front of the box so that I might climb on. I'd not bothered with a saddle, and frankly, had no idea how to put on one. I rode better bareback anyway.  
  
In one easy movement, I had climbed the box and sung myself up and over onto the horse. I could hear an audible gasp rise from the crowd outside the fence as they waited for him to throw me off. But he didn't. He made not a move until I gently squeezed and then he began to trot.  
  
We circled a few times before I felt his muscles begin to expand and I urged him faster and faster until we were galloping across the arena. I held on tightly and ducked low.  
  
I smiled, never having felt this way before in my life. I felt as though I were flying. As though the horse and I were one being, galloping across the plains Jack so often spoke of. I could feel the wind blowing my hair and tangling it beyond all help, and burning my cheeks, making them red and healthy. I could feel the air in my lungs, filling me with something, I don't know what.  
  
Finally, he began to tire and I let him slip back into a walk. After a few laps, I stopped him and slipped off. Then I led him back towards his stall to brush him. As I did so, standing on a box because he was so tall and I so small, I noticed several jockeys and trainers watching me with a look of astonishment in their eyes.  
  
When I closed the gate behind me, they approached me, grinning and congratulating me on being the first to tame the storm.  
  
I arrived home late that night, and only just managed to make it before Kloppman locked the door. I slapped my nickel down and hurried upstairs, where Jack informed me that I smelled like horses and needed to take a bath. I grinned and slapped down the five bucks I'd earned, from selling, training, and a bet or two I'd placed. The newsies stared in amazement as I related to them my new job.  
  
The days became routine once again and, before I knew it, a month had passed. Every day, I bought only the morning edition and sold it at the races, sometimes just bringing it into the barn with me and letting the jockeys, stable boys, and trainers, fight over it. Then I worked with La Tempesta, I never called him Dancer, if I could help it. He seemed to responded better to that name anyway. Soon, I wondered if he just liked the sound of Italian, and I began to give him commands in Italian. One day, Jake happened by while I was training.  
  
"Rallentare(slow down)" I called to the horse as he galloped by me on his lead. Jake frowned and approached me. La Tempesta seemed nervous, but I whispered to him, "Calmarsi (calm down)." And he listened.  
  
"Hey, Racetrack, I was just listening to you. You give him commands in Italian?" I nodded.  
  
"He seemed to respond better." He frowned.  
  
"If I were you, I'd keep it down. Some of the boys back there, they aren't crazy about Italians. In fact, your last name is all that's keeping you from getting beat. If they hear you talking like that, they might do something violent." I sighed and nodded.  
  
It never made sense to me, how someone could hate somebody because of where they came from. I mean, this was America! We had all left our homes to leave that stuff behind. Hadn't almost all of us been persecuted or something back home? Blink had once told me, the Russians had driven his parents out of their home back in Poland when he was just a baby. Boots's parents had been slaves when they were kids down south, and Spot's parents had been driven out of Ireland by the evictions. My own mother had fled because she had nowhere else to go.  
  
America was the land where the streets were made of gold, and everyone wore red, and there was food and homes for everyone, and no one was unhappy. America was a lie.  
  
And us newsies got along just fine, Jack, Spot, and Crutchy, they were Irish, Boots was colored, Blink, Polish, Davy, Jewish, and Mush and I were both from Italian decent, though he leaned a bit more on the Greek side. Of course, I never told anyone that my real father was a British soldier, whose name I'll never know. And we all got along fine. I suppose, when you're that young and those people are all you've ever known, or all you ever want to, it doesn't matter.  
  
One thing that was very inconsistent during that month, was the fact that I kept seeing Victoria. Every time, I ventured uptown, there she'd be, coming in on her carriage, walking down the street, and every time, she'd catch my eye and smile gently. I'd tip my hat in her direction. But not a word was spoken. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of us.  
  
Still, the more I saw of her, the more she invaded my dreams at night. The more I heard her voice and saw her face. I don't have the words to describe how much I loved her, even then.  
  
I forced myself to spend more time at the stable, anything to put her out of my mind. A few weeks after I'd started, Jake explained to me that La Tempesta had been beaten and abused by his previous owner, and that was the reason behind his skittishness and foul temperament.  
  
This only enforced the bond I had with the horse. I explained to him, one late night in Italian. "Vedere, sono stato troppo abusato. So come sente. Ma non lo dorrò mai. Prometto. Ma ho trovato la mia famiglia con i miei amici. Forse, se lei ha fatto degli amici con gli altri cavalli, lei potrebbe prendere meglio. (See, I've been abused too. I know how it feels. But I won't ever hurt you. I promise. But I found my family with my friends. Perhaps, if you made friends with the other horses, you might get better.)  
  
What this horse needed was not a trainer, but a friend. And I found myself fulfilling that position. He still refused to let anyone else ride him, or brush him. And the few days I couldn't come, I found him still dirty from the previous day.  
  
As much as I was making friends with the horses, I was not making friends with the other younger jockeys. The trainers were helpful enough, with the exception of Toby, whom I explained earlier. But he wasn't much of a help to anyone. It was said that he was kept on only because he had been there so long.  
  
About almost a month and a half after I'd been there, Jake had approached me, a young boy about my age with blond hair and a smirk beside him.  
  
"Racetrack, this is my cousin, Bill. He's going to help out a bit. Bill, Racetrack." I shook his hand, though he eyed me coldly.  
  
"Do you have a surname, Racetrack?" he said my name like it was a joke. La Tempesta nicked softly and nudged my shoulder. I glared and placed my hand on his neck.  
  
"Higgins." I answered, just as coldly. With that he laughed. I failed to see what was funny, and so did Jake. He shifted uncomfortably. But Bill moved closer to the horse.  
  
"I'm surprised you let a boy like that so close to Uncle's prize horses." He said. Jake frowned, though I was hardly aware of what he meant by " a boy like that."  
  
"Racetrack happens to be Dancer's trainer. And the only one who can tame that beast." He added with a wink to me. Bill frowned. I gave La Tempesta one last brush, before feeding him and turning to close the stall.  
  
"Where are you going?" Bill asked, as I passed the jockeys. Jake looked like he wanted to ask the same question. I directed my voice towards him.  
  
"I'm headin' out. If I hurry, I's can still make da evenin' edition." I told them. With that I slipped off with a shiver. One glance told me all I had needed to know, Bill McKenna did not like me.  
  
When I arrived the next morning, it was still early. I dropped the papes into the chair beside La Tempsta's stall. I took the brush and began to work. After a few minutes, I heard a snicker. I spun around to see Bill standing there. He was smoking a cigar and sneering at me.  
  
"Ya ain't allowed ta smoke." I told him, "Dey's afraid a' fire." He rolled his eyes and dropped the cigar, stamping it out. Then he sneered at me again.  
  
"Ya want sumdin'?" I asked, coldly. " Cause I'se gotta woik." In an instant, he'd grabbed me by the shirt and slammed me hard against the wall.  
  
"You may have my cousin and his brother fooled. But I can see straight through that so called Irish name you claims is yours." I frowned.  
  
"Whut?" I asked, disbelieving. He slammed me against the wall again, harder this time.  
  
"You know what I'm talking about! You're just a dirty little smart-ass Italian. And you better watch yourself, ginney!" With that, he flung me away and stamped off, lighting another cigar as he went.  
  
I paused for a moment, to catch my breath and stop my pounding heart. Then I slumped down into a chair. It took me a moment to understand what had happened. When I did, I bent over and buried my face in my hands.  
  
I hadn't been called that for so long. Not for so long. Not since I was a kid. I shook my head and forced myself to get back to work.  
  
It was only the beginning. Soon, I began finding notes tucked into La Tempesta's saddle, or dropped in my hand as one of the jockeys passed by. They daren't do anything in front of Jake or Mr. McKenna. But the moment one or both of their backs were turned, Bill made my life hell.  
  
Every morning as I walked in, he'd be waiting for me. As I brushed La Tempesta, he'd come up and whisper things. Horrible things and it was all I could do not to soak him then and there.  
  
" Hey there Ginney." He'd say, " How's the paper this morning? Did the little grease bag sell his papers?" I'd clench my teeth and fight the urges, knowing that if I attacked back, I'd be blamed. I began to hear voices whispering those words in my sleep, and Jack awoke me one night, claiming I'd been shouting in my sleep. I couldn't help it. He scared me. He was so vindictive and seemed too dedicated to driving me away, I had no doubt he'd resort to soaking at some point. I was right.  
  
One evening, as I left much later than usual, Bill and his cronies stepped in behind me. I had missed the last carriage, but Jake sometimes gave me a ride home. He was inside, taking care of some last minute business while I waited outside to smoke.  
  
"Nice night ain't it, ginney." I did not say a word, but took a long draw on my cigar. In an instant, he'd snatched it from my mouth and dropped it to the ground. I watched, fear growing, as he and his buddies circled closer.  
  
"We're going to teach you a lesson, ginney." He whispered, eyes gleaming, " You think you're good enough to work with us, with our horses, you're wrong." I shook my head.  
  
"Ya can't make me quit." I said, sounding far braver than I felt.  
  
"Dead boys don't work." was his only comment as his fist swung back. I ducked the first punch, but couldn't miss the kick. Or the next one. The moment I was down, it was a free for all. They kicked and punched, then hauled me to my feet, only to kick my legs out from under me again. I couldn't help crying out and trying to get to my feet, but there was always a fist coming towards my face, sending me back once again.  
  
Suddenly they stopped and I heard footsteps and running voices. I felt myself hauled to my feet one more time to be staring into Bill McKenna's face.  
  
"Tell a soul and we'll slit your lousy throat, understand?" He didn't wait for an answer, before he dropped me. I only curled my injured body into the smallest ball I could manage. When someone shined a light on my face, I covered my eyes and winced.  
  
"Racetrack!" I felt a hand on my shoulder and whimpered as it touched a brand new bruise. "Racetrack, are you alright?" Slowly, I opened my eyes. Jake was standing over me, holding a lantern over my head, looking at me in horror. I uncurled myself and very, achingly, painfully, got to my feet. I felt unsteady as he led me back into the office and handed me a towel to wrap around one of the bigger cuts on my arm.  
  
"What happened?" he asked. Bill's final words echoed in my mind and I said not a word. I sat down and felt my head, wincing as he dabbed some water on a deep cut on my forehead.  
  
"Racetrack," he asked, softly, " tell me what happened."  
  
When I made no move to answer any questions, he sighed. "You want me to take you home?" I nodded. Then he slipped an arm under mine and helped me to his carriage. When we arrived at the lodging house and I slipped off, he stopped me with an order.  
  
"Take a day off, Racetrack. I'll walk and feed Dancer. You rest and recover." I nodded. Then I stumbled inside. A poker game was in progress on the stairs, but Jack and Blink were on their feet the instant I stepped in the door.  
  
"Race!" Jack helped me as my knees threatened to give out. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Kloppman was ready with bandages and warm water for me and my friends helped me upstairs to my bunk. Jack did not question me until most of the more serious wounds were taken care of. Then he asked the one question I could not answer.  
  
"Who did dis ta ya?" I didn't answer, but instead closed my eyes. I heard Jack swear in the little Gaelic he knew and something occurred to me.  
  
Jack was Irish, Bill was Irish. Did Jack secretly share Bill's opinions? He often treated me like I was helpless or that I couldn't do things on my own. I knew most Italians and Irish did not get along, out I'd always thought Jack and my friendship beyond any racial borders, but that night I began to doubt. I believe I lost any naivety I had left that night.  
  
The next morning, Kloppman let me sleep and I awoke well into the day, to see sunlight streaming through the windows. My stomach growled and I forced my stiff and aching bones out of bed and down the steps. Kloppman smiled at me and took me into the kitchen, before handing me a small plate of bread and meat. It wasn't much, but I ate it gratefully. Then I got to my feet.  
  
"And where do you think you're going, Race?" he asked. I stopped.  
  
"If I hurry, I might make da afta'noon edition." I said, but he placed a hand on my bruised shoulder, causing me to wince.  
  
"You're not in any condition ta be sellin' papes today, Race. Go on back ta bed." I didn't argue, but climbed into bed, weary once again.  
  
I spent the next two days in that room, sleeping all day, eating whatever the boys brought me or what Kloppman made. I had no energy, no motivation. If I went back to the stables, it would happen again and again. I knew that. And I couldn't pretend that the words didn't hurt forever. And if the words didn't hurt, then the fists would.  
  
Jack constantly tried to get me to eat more, to go out, and maybe sell a bit with him, to go down to the races at least. But I just rolled over in my bed and turned my back on him.  
  
Three days afterwards, I was smoking on the fire escape, smoking not being allowed inside the bunkrooms as it made Specs queasy. I was pondering on whether to go back or not, when I heard the window open. I didn't look, but I knew it was Jack the moment he leaned against the rail next to me.  
  
"Heyya Race." He said quietly.  
  
"Hey Jack." There was a long pause. When I glanced at him, I saw him watching me with a hard to read expression on his face.  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
"I'm tryin' ta figura out whut someone wid good sense like ya gots, is doin' out 'era in da middle a' winta widout a coat." I glared at him.  
  
"I ain't got a coat, Jack. Ya know dat." I said coldly. He sighed.  
  
"What's da madda widcha, Race? Foir da past two days, ya ain't been talkin', ya ain't been sellin', and ya ain't even been ta da races!"  
  
"I ain't welcome dere." I said quietly, letting on as much as I could.  
  
"Who says? Ya told me ya wus gettin' along great." I sighed and decide this was the time to ask him the question that had been burning in my head.  
  
"Jack, I'se gotta ax youse a question. And don't lie ta me. I need ta know."  
  
"Shoot." He said, grinning. I looked him straight in the eye and asked it.  
  
"Have ya eva, even once, dought 'a me as a ginney? Or a grease bag? Or a zip, or grape stompa? Eva?" He stared at me for one long moment, surprise and shock written all over his face.  
  
"Neva! Why?" he answered. I didn't believe him.  
  
"Youse lyin'." I mumbled. He looked shocked.  
  
"Whut makes ya dink I'se lyin?" I glared at him.  
  
"Youse always treatin' me like I can't do nuttin', like I'se helpless or sumdin'. Ya treat me like youse bedda den me!" It wasn't true, but I was angry.  
  
"I treat youse da same way I treat all me newsies." Jack insisted. I shook my head.  
  
"Den why don't ya dink I cen take care a' meself?" he sighed.  
  
"I always dought a' youse as da little brudda I neva had. If I eva treated ya like dat, it's because I wus tryin' ta protect ya." I glared at him, and turned away. He took my shoulders, turning me around and forcing me to look at him.  
  
"Neva once did I eva tink a' youse as dat. Youse Racetrack, me best pal. Neva any a' dose dings." As I looked into his eyes, I knew he was telling the truth and I nodded, turning away to take a long drag on my cigar.  
  
"Who told ya dat? Someone givin' ya a hard time? Jist tell me who it is, and I'll soak 'em!" I smiled.  
  
"Whut does it madda?" I asked.  
  
"It maddas!" then he leaned in the window and called doubt. The next second Blink was at the window.  
  
"Hey, Kid. Whut would ya say if I told youse somebody called Race, 'era, a ginney?" Blink frowned, unfamiliar with the racial slur. Jack leaned over and whispered something in his head, that made Blink's face get angrier and meaner.  
  
"Who called ya dat! I'll soak 'em so hard, dey won't even know what dat means!" He growled.  
  
"Tanks foir da support, fellas, but I don't need it."  
  
"Who?" Jack's question was simple and to the point. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. Then I tossed my finished cigar into the street.  
  
After a long silence, I looked up at Jack and Blink. " He's da nephew a' me boss. He's Irish and he dinks dat's da best ding in da woild." I sighed. " And he don't like Italians. He and his pals, dey're da ones dat soaked me." I finished quietly. Jack frowned, and appeared to be thinking. Then he put his hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Youse stayin home one mora day."  
  
I followed Jack's orders as usual. When I returned, I found little had changed. Jake seemed to be concerned and stopped by to talk to me several times a day. He asked me if everything was alright. I told him it was fine, but I didn't mention the notes left in my coat, in the feedbag, under La Tempesta's saddle. I didn't mention the legs, held out to trip me or, words whispered as I passed, about the hands that slammed me against the wall and threatened my friends and family, late at night. I didn't tell him how a word could hurt so much more than a fist.  
  
Now, I probably should explain that it wasn't everyone who enjoyed terrorizing me. The older jockeys and trainers, who'd known me for years, first as little Tony Higgins who liked the horses, and as Racetrack who sold them papes everyday, they treated me well, or as one of them. If I needed help, they were there. If I was eating my small lunch Kloppman would make for me, they would sit down next to me and begin a conversation. Jake was among these.  
  
One of the older trainers told me Jake used to be a champion jockey, before he was thrown from his horse and messed up his leg. Now he could only watch the races, never run them. I felt bad for him, but I soon realized he wanted no one's pity, the same as me. We were a good match, neither one pitying the other, and yet I always listened to him, eager for anything he had to teach me.  
  
He taught me to ride, to brush La Tempesta, to give him food, take care for him when he was sick, to run him, to cool him down, even to begin to jump him. He often praised me on my work, and I'd smile, only to see the glaring faces of the jockeys, or the stable boys, one of whom would always run his finger across his neck and point to me. I was scared, but I stayed.  
  
The ones who were involved with Bill and his campaign, were the stables boys, the younger confident jockeys, the ones who felt that this was an Irish run establishment and that no Italians should be allowed to associate with their betters.  
  
I tried to ignore them, but it's hard to ignore someone whose slamming you against the wall, calling you all kinds of offensive names, and threatening to do unspeakable things to the ones you love.  
  
One day, Jack accompanied me to the stables, curious about my job, and probably, secretly cheered on by the other boys, who wanted to know the reason I came home with several black eyes each week, why I was always bruised and angry, and why I refused to give reasons behind my injuries.  
  
I showed him La Tempesta, and the old brute allowed Jack to give him a handful of grain. Jake looked on, laughing.  
  
"Why, two months ago, he wouldn't let anyone touch him. Now he's eating out of your hand. You've done wonders, Racetrack." I beamed. As much as I lived in fear, his praise made it seem all worth it. Then he walked back to his office, winking at me on the way out.  
  
Jack was grinning at the giant horse. "He's a bueat, Race. Can ya ride him?" I nodded.  
  
"Maybe, he'll even letcha ride him too." Jack couldn't have looked more thrilled if I'd told him Santa Fe was only half a mile down the road. I led La Tempesta out to the arena, only to be confronted by Bill and two of his jockey pals.  
  
"Going somewhere, ginney?" he asked. I swallowed hard and moved to lead my horse around, but he shoved me back hard. In an instant, Jack was by my side, stepping in front of me.  
  
"And what is this?" Bill laughed.  
  
"Da name's Kelly. Jack Kelly and youse jist messed wid me pal." Bill laughed again.  
  
"Kelly? You Irish, kid?" Jack frowned.  
  
"Yeah, so?" He took Jack by the shoulders and leaned close.  
  
"So what are you doing with a lousy little greaser like that?" he pointed to me. I saw Jack clenched his fists.  
  
" Dat ' lousy little greasa' is me best pal. Youse mess wid him, ya mess wid me." Jack seemed to grow angrier by the minute. Bill shook his head and sighed.  
  
"I hate to see a fellow countryman end up having to associate with the likes of them." He nodded his head towards me. Jack growled and grabbed him in a tight grip, lifting him clear off the ground.  
  
"I warned ya." He growled. " Nobody messes wid me pals." And he raised his fist and smacked him hard in the jaw. Bill fell to the ground, nursing his wounded jaw.  
  
"You'll regret this, traitor." He hissed. " And your little ginney friend will be the one to pay." And with that, he slipped off.  
  
"You shouldn'ta done dat, Jack." I told him, shaking my head. Jack shrugged.  
  
"I couldn't not. Someone had ta. Nobody messes wid me pal. " I quickly changed the subject, allowing him to walk La Tempesta around the ring. He was very well behaved, and even tolerated it, when Jack grabbed another horse and we trotted around together.  
  
When evening fell, he was off, with a promise from me to be back later that night. I sat down in the stall, smiling at the horse I secretly called my own. I leaned my head back against the stall door, closing my eyes for what I thought as a brief moment. But before I knew it, I had fallen asleep,  
  
I awoke to an intense heat. For a moment, I didn't open my eyes, confused. But the next instant, my ears heard the dreaded crackle of flames and I was on my feet in a second.  
  
To my horror, half the stall was in flames and quickly growing. I yanked open the door and shoved La Tempesta through. He refused to move, terrified as he was, and I threw a rag over his eyes, leading him out of the smoke filled barn.  
  
I shoved the door open, breathing in fresh gulps of air, and sending the smoke rising up into the air. Shouts began to ring through the night, as I grabbed the rag from over my horse's eyes and dashed inside once again.  
  
I saw old Toby throwing water on the fire and making a little success. I grabbed the horse from the next stall, threw the rag over its eyes and hurried it outside. One by one, I repeated this act, until all the horses on the burning row were outside. I hurried in once again, only to be found face to face with a large curtain of smoke. I began hacking and coughing, and I fell to my knees, trying to find a breathe of pure air.  
  
Once I'd drawn enough into my lungs, I yanked the next stall door open and led the horse out. When I burst outside this time, I saw a fire engine already there and putting out the flames, hence the reason for the smoke. I led the horse over to a crowd of people, all stable boys and workers from the other stables. Mr. McKenna was there, as well as Jake. The moment he saw me, Jake pushed through the crowd and grabbed my shoulders.  
  
"Here he is!" he shouted. Mr. McKenna hurried over and looked at me through small angry eyes. I stared around at the jockeys and workers, shocked to see angry or disgusted looks on all their faces. I saw Bill in the background and he was grinning. This couldn't be good, I thought, swallowing hard.  
  
" What happened, Racetrack?" Jake asked.  
  
"I dunno. I wus sleepin' and all 'a sudden, I wakes up and dere's fira everywhera!" I told them.  
  
"Was this before or after your cigarette?" Mr. McKenna asked, growling every word.  
  
"What?" I asked, completely confused.  
  
"You know what's he's talking about, we all saw you lit up." Bill called. Slowly, it began to dawn on me. They thought I'd been smoking! They thought I'd started the fire!  
  
"NO!" I shouted. " I ain't been smokin'! I ain't neva smoked 'era! Jake told me not ta and I don't! Neva!" I shouted.  
  
"Racetrack," Jake said, sadly, " we have several witnesses claiming the same thing. That you were smoking in the stall." I shook my head.  
  
"I ain't done nuttin but what youse told me! Youse told me no smokin' so I didn't smoke! Ya ain't got no right ta accuse me!" Mr. McKenna shook his head.  
  
"I'm sorry, Racetrack, but the police have been called. We'll sort this out in the morning." If possible, my eyes grew wider.  
  
"No!" I shouted, " I ain't goin' back ta jail! I ain't! No one's gonna make me! I ain't goin' back!" And with that, I turned on my heels and fled, running as fast as I could. I heard voices behind me, but I knew shortcuts, and alleyways and open doors, and I soon lost everyone.  
  
When I finally slowed down, I was out of breath and far from both the tracks and my home. I was on the riverbank. I thought of crossing the bridge to see if Spot might take me in, but changed my mind. I pulled my vest closer and slipped under the docks.  
  
I was under there for a while before I heard footsteps above me. I froze, as the single pair of footsteps walked to the end and paused. A soft voice drifted down to me, singing a sad little mournful tune.  
  
"My young love said to me, "My mother won't mind  
  
And my father won't slight you for your lack of kind"  
  
And he stepped away from me and this he did say:  
  
It will not be long, love, till our wedding day"  
  
I slipped up to look. It was a young woman, wrapped in a shawl, looking out over the river. This was all I could see.  
  
" As he stepped away from me and he moved through the fair  
  
And fondly I watched him move here and move there  
  
And then he turned homeward with one star awake  
  
Like the swan in the evening moves over the lake."  
  
I made no move to let her know I was listening, her voice had a soft haunting tone and I closed my eyes, listening to the old Irish air I'd heard several times before but never really listened to.  
  
" Last night I dreamt it, my dead love came in  
  
So softly he came that him feet made no din  
  
As he laid his hand on me and this he did say  
  
"It will not be long, love, 'til our wedding day"  
  
I coughed slightly, letting her know I was there. She spun around, looking shocked.  
  
"Sorry, Miss, bout I couldn't 'elp hearin'. Lovely tune." She nodded, then paused, peering at me.  
  
"Racetrack?" I grinned at the familiar accent.  
  
"Victoria." She smiled and stepped closer. "Whud's a pre'y li'l ding like youse doin' out 'era dis late unda da Brooklyn bridge?" she shrugged.  
  
"Couldn't sleep." I raised my eyebrow.  
  
"Ya couldn't sleep so ya went for a walk?" she nodded. I shook my head, confused as to why someone would walk all the way from Park Avenue to the bridge just because they couldn't sleep.  
  
"I don't know, I just knew I had to be out tonight. I grabbed my coat, slipped downstairs and began to walk. I stopped here." It did seem as simple as that. And in a way it was.  
  
"It is good to see you again, Racetrack." I took her hand and kissed it. "And your lips aren't half as cold." She said, giggling.  
  
"Please, call me Race. I said, before sitting down on the edge of the dock. She joined me and we watched the stars for a few moments. Suddenly, I turned and found myself looking straight at her, and our faces only inches apart.  
  
"I liked da song. What's it about?" She turned away and shifted nervously. I could see her clearly now, her long light hair pulled back in a loose bun behind her head, her pale skin reflecting the moonlight, and her strange eyes, seeming to shine when the moon hit them.  
  
"It's about a girl, whose in love with this boy, this amazing wonderful boy, and she's going to marry him." she said this in a dreamy tone, gazing at the sky as if she wished she were that girl. "But," her voice suddenly become sadder, " he dies, suddenly and they cannot marry. However, one night he comes to her bedside and tells her that they are still in love, and he will love her till the end of time, even in death."  
  
I had the sudden impulse to put my arm around her. But I stopped it just in time. "Sounds so sad. I wonda if dey wus eva tageda." She smiled and leaned a bit closer.  
  
"I'm sure they were. Nothing can stop true love, even death." I nodded, and this time I did out my arm around her shoulders. She did not protest.  
  
"Ya know wh-" I turned to speak to her and she turned at the same time. In that instant, our faces were only less than an inch apart. She was stared me, and I at her.  
  
We had only spoken a few times in our lives, but the instant my lips touched hers, I knew this was it. This wasn't some fling or lusting, this was real and true fairytale love; this is what made the famous Cowboy hang up his hat. In that instant, I managed to understand everything Jack had tried to tell me in a few clumsy words.  
  
The kiss was innocent, chaste, but still it filled me with passion, binding me to her in a much deeper and more intact than any marriage ever could. It filled my empty and lost soul with something, something I couldn't understand, but as I continued to kiss her, I began to. I remembered nothing before kissing her, no newsies, no stables, no fire, and no escape. All I knew was Victoria and the simple passion she was filling me with. And though it was simple, we both pulled back with quickened hearts and panting breath.  
  
When we pulled back, we gazed at each other for what seemed like forever. Her eyes were filled with everything in my heart and I gazed back, open and unchallenged for the first time in my life. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, I had to reach out and touch her, to make sure she was real.  
  
I touched a long strand of red hair that had come undone in our kiss. Then I let my hands travel down her neck and I felt her lift her hand and trace my cheek. I wondered if she felt the same way. But one look in her eyes confirmed it. I wasn't very good with words when it came to this sort of thing, but every emotion I was feeling, every thought that was running through my head, she could see in my eyes. She used to tell me that was one of her favorite things about me. How I would tell her how much I loved her without saying a word.  
  
I couldn't last much longer without another go, so I leaned in again and captured her in another, this time much more passionate, kiss. She wasted no time in wrapped her arms around me and pulling me as close as she could get. I needed more, every cell in my body burned, until I could hardly stand it.  
  
This time, when I pulled back, she wasn't ready and dove at me. Her fingers dug into my sides and I laughed.  
  
"Does that tickle?" she asked, a mischievous grin on her face. I laughed as she attacked me again and in a second, I had my revenge, flipping her over and raging my own battle.  
  
Soon we were rolling around on the dock, trying to win against the other, and laughing too hard to put up much of a fight. It was when I pinned her that the moment returned. She stared up at me, eyes wide, and open, begging me for something.  
  
"Race." She breathed. I stared at her, unsure, unwilling, or unable, to reason out my thoughts. She shook me to the bone.  
  
Then she made the decision for me as she pulled me down for a long deep kiss. 


	7. Somebody hates me, somebody loves me

Chapter Seven…  
  
Hehehe. Left you with a cliffhanger, didn't I? Well, I know how annoying they are, and so here is the next part. The problem with Bill isn't over and will resolve itself in this chapter in a very unexpected way. at least it was to me when I wrote it. it was one of those things that just pops up when you write, just coming out of your head and through your fingers without thinking about it.  
  
Ya know? I give up on disclaimers, we all know it. we all know who they belong to ( Race belongs to me * wink wink sigh* so I'm going to say it once and that's it. newsies belongs to Disney. The plot and all unrecognized characters come from the deep recesses of my mind ( scary place) And that's all there is. There isn't any more.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The next morning dawned cloudy, and a little gray, as if the sun was trying desperately to peek through, but couldn't quite make it. My spirits however, were soaring. I rolled over, grinning at the flying sensation that was still coursing through my head, and at the sleeping redhead by my side.  
  
I brushed back Victoria's curl, as it fell over her face, and kissed her cheek. She smiled in her sleep and cuddled closer. I wanted to stay there forever, wrapped in her arms.  
  
"Race?" she murmured. I glanced down to see her open her eyes, and smiled.  
  
"Mornin' doll." I whispered. She giggled.  
  
"No one's ever called me that before." Then she sat up, stretching. I reached behind her and grabbed my shirt, yanking it over my head. She snuggled deeper in my jacket and laughed when I tried to take it.  
  
"I gotta woik!" I protested. She smiled.  
  
"Then turn around." I rolled my eyes and turned away. I whistled a bit, kicking at sand and waiting for her to let me turn around. When she did, she was in my arms in an instant, and we were kissing again.  
  
My soul was flying the moment her lips touched mine, just as it had last night. Last night, I smiled at just the thought. She pulled back.  
  
"What are you grinning about?" I leaned over and whispered in her ear.  
  
"Jist dinkin' a last night." She blushed.  
  
"Race!" She hit me playfully, but did not protest in the least when I pulled her in for another kiss.  
  
She kissed back, and surprised me every time. She was like no other girl I'd ever met. And I told her so. So soon as we disconnected our lips, that is.  
  
"Is that supposed to be a complement?" she asked. I nodded.  
  
"All de udda goils, dey act all giggly and blush wheneva ya talk ta 'em. Den ya have da tough street goils, who I'se known foreva. Dey don't take no crap from anybody, even dere friends. And de rich broads, all dey eva do is sneer down atcha. Youse, you don't do dat. You look at me like dere's no one else in da whole woild." I told her. She smiled and put her arms around me.  
  
"There isn't." And with that, we kissed again. It was looking to be a repeat of the previous night when I heard a cough behind us. We jumped apart, and I spun around, both relived and annoyed to see Mush and Blink staring at me, huge grins on both their faces.  
  
"Mush! Blink! Don't eva scara me like dat!" Mush laughed.  
  
"Well, now we knows where youse been. Jack's been lookin' fer ya all night." I frowned.  
  
"He has? Why?" Blink moved forward.  
  
"Yer boss, he came ta da lodgin' house last night. Said dere'd been a fira, and dat dey wus lookin' fer ya. Said ya ran off jist afta."  
  
In a violent and sudden rush, everything came back and I closed my eyes. I was in deep. Much deeper than I'd ever been. They were sure to arrest me now. I felt faint and suddenly, I felt hands helping me and leading me off.  
  
I realized that we were moving about a block from the lodging house. Quickly, I glanced around for Victoria and was relieved to see her under my arm. Blink was under my other arm and Mush was leading us. We entered and found Jack, standing in the dorm room, looking none too pleased. No one noticed Victoria at first, as Jack reached out and seized my collar, slamming me against the wall.  
  
"Where have ya been?" He was not happy, I could tell right away. I didn't blame him. Between recent events and the worry McKenna's visit must have caused him, he had to be furious and I was in deep with him. But Jack would never soak you, he might shake you or shove you around a bit, but he would never hurt one of his newsies. Jack had a way about him that just made you feel so guilty about whatever you had done. He felt that guilt was a much worse punishment than anything else he could dream up.  
  
"Whut does it madda?" I asked, shoving his hands away, but he wouldn't let me move, trapping me with his angry eyes.  
  
"Yer boss, McKenna, wus 'era. Said dey were looking' fer ya. Said youse wus wanted fer arson."  
  
"Arson?" I gasped; they had brought the charges then. I found it hard to breathe.  
  
"Yeah, arson. Now tell me. Whut happened?" I felt faint again and in an instant, Victoria was under my arm again, supporting me. I pulled her close and tighten my arms around her. No one said a word as I made my way to my bunk and sat down, still holding her. Then I began to explain. When I'd finished, there was silence.  
  
"I dunno whut ta do." I said, almost hysterical. "I didn't do it, I swea! I ain't neva smoked in dere. But no one believes me."  
  
"Tell them." Victoria said, "Just tell them the truth. Why wouldn't they believe you?"  
  
"Because Bill says he saw me. And McKenna believes every woid he says. Besides, I'm just a ginney, no one caes whut I say." Jack growled, so did most of my friends. The younger kids looked confused, but didn't ask. Victoria frowned.  
  
"What does that mean?" For the first time, everyone looked at her. I'm sure they were wondering what she was doing with me. She was obviously rich. She wore a new dress, and her skin was pale and smooth, not rough or ink stained like mine, an obvious sign of never working. But her hand had never left mine, and now I held her close.  
  
"Who are you?" Snipeshooter asked.  
  
"Guys, dis is Victoria. Vicky, da guys." I waved my hand. She smiled a bit.  
  
"So what does it mean?" she asked again.  
  
"It's an insult, ta Italians." Jack told her. "Damn bastards." I closed my eyes.  
  
"So whut do I do?" I asked Jack again. Jack frowned and sat back on his own bed, thinking hard. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. After a few minutes of silence, I couldn't wait.  
  
"Jack, ya done dinkin' yet?" the boys laughed slightly as Jack glared at me.  
  
"I think," he said slowly, "ya should go and explain ta your boss and tell him da trut. If he doesn't believe ya, we'll back ya up." I closed my eyes.  
  
If I went back, they'd arrest me. If I didn't, I'd be a wanted criminal. I was not going back to jail. It almost killed me the first time, and I couldn't do it again. It was like a saying I heard someone say. "If I speak, I am damned. If I stay silent, I an damned." Maybe, if I could explain to him the truth, maybe, jut maybe he would believe me. And so, slowly, I nodded.  
  
I stood up and walked, slowly, and steadily for the door. No one said a word and they watched me leave, Victoria included.  
  
I quickly found a trolley, and hopped on the back. The conductor made no move to stop me and I found myself a quick ride to Coney Island. When we arrived, I climbed off.  
  
I sighed when I saw the smoldering wooden beams that had once been the barn. Luckily, only a small portion was damaged, and the majority of the barn was saved. I took a deep breath and walked forward.  
  
As I approached, a voice called out. "Well, well, well, I see the criminal has decided to turn himself in." I turned to see Bill grinned, proudly. I shook my head at him disgusted.  
  
"Ya bum." I growled. He only laughed.  
  
"Enjoy the fresh air, ginney. It'll be the last you see of the sun." In an instant, all the emotions, all the conflicts, everything poured through me and I seized his throat and slammed him against a shed wall.  
  
I was a scrawny kid, always have been. And in the past few years, I haven't changed much. And he was tall, so much taller than me. But I was so fed up, so tired of it all, that in that moment, I stood taller than he ever would.  
  
"Look," I growled, " I know ya did it." He began to protest, but I shook my head. "Don't argua, I know it! Youse set me up! Youse always been callin' me names, and sayin' dings! And I ignored it! But I ain't ignorin' it no mora! Dis is da best ding dats eva happened ta me and I ain't lettin' some bum like youse screw it up fer me! Now, I'se 'era ta tell yer Uncle exactly what happened last night and if ya dara even try ta accuse me again, I'll do somtin' I might regret. Got it?" he stared at me, probably confirming his fears about Italians. I let him go and turned my back on him. That was a mistake, an almost deadly mistake.  
  
The moment my back was turned, I heard a shout. I spun around and saw him holding a small handgun! I froze, and watched, as if in a dream, as his finger squeezed the trigger. The shot seemed much louder than I'd ever heard a gunshot before. I couldn't move, couldn't run. My brain screamed to move! But my body refused to respond. Then, at the last second, it did and I dove for the ground.  
  
Something hot and burning tore through my sleeve, for a moment it stung but soon it ceased to hurt. I heard another shot, and this time, I was on my feet and running. I burst into the barn, startling workers and firefighters, running as fast as I could, and stumbling every once and a while. I slammed into Jake and fell to the floor. The instant my arm hit the floor, pain blossomed and I could hardly move. I heard muffled voices, as if I was under water, but everything was moving slowly. I couldn't move as I saw Bill rush at me, the gun drawn. Just as I closed my eyes, I heard a loud neigh and a scream. Then all went black.  
  
I opened my eyes to soft voices and worried faces. And the color white. As I blinked, I saw I was in a room, and everything was a clean sterile white. I stretched and winced as my left arm burned. I glanced at it and saw that it was wrapped in white bandages and placed in a sling. My head pounded and I felt so tired.  
  
When I looked up, I was surprised to see, almost all the newsies crowded into one room and sleeping in all kinds of positions. Even Spot was fast asleep on a chair. David was on the floor across the room, Les in his lap, Blink was leaning on Mush who slept on the windowsill. Crutchy was using his crutch as a pillow, and little Snipeshooter was curled up next to him. The others were crowded on the floor and chairs in what looked like uncomfortable positions, but if I knew the newsies, they could sleep anywhere, anytime. My eyes automatically looked for Jack and saw him in the corner, his arms wrapped protectively about Victoria and Sarah while he spoke softly to Jake.  
  
My eyes latched onto Victoria, as she sniffled and fought the urge to cry. She was standing close to Jack, and a flame of jealousy flared in me, dying almost instantly. Jake was holding his hat in his hands, looking apologetic and frightened. Victoria's eyes were red, and her hair mussed. I wondered if she'd been home at all.  
  
"Vicky?" I called softly. Her head snapped around, and in a mere second, she was across the room and into my arms, holding me tightly. The instant her arms went around me and she touched my left arm, it began to burn and I winced. She pulled back, gently planting a kiss on my forehead.  
  
"Oh god, Race! I was so worried." She murmured softly into my arm. She was crying, why was she crying, I wondered.  
  
"Shh, shhh, don't cry, doll. I'se fine." I stroked her hair as she sobbed. I felt a hand on my shoulder and smiled up at Jack. His eyes were red too, and his hair mussed, like he hadn't combed it.  
  
"Heyya, Race." He asked, his voice hoarse, "How ya feelin?" I smiled at him.  
  
"A bit tired, and me head hoits" He reached over and handed me a glass of water.  
  
"That would be the medicine." Jake told him, approaching the bed. I eyed him carefully as he wrung his hat in his hands. He seemed nervous about something. "Look Race," he said, " about the fire, I know you didn't do it. I heard what you said to Bill." I bit my lip.  
  
"You wus dere?" he nodded.  
  
"I heard every word that he said and that you said. And I talked to my brother." I paused. "He was there when you ran in. Gave him the worst fright of his life." I smiled. " We saw him," he swallowed hard, " Saw him, and came at you with the gun, then I saw you fall." Vicky buried her face in my shirt again. "He was like a madman, shouting all kinds of horrible, a horrible things." He seemed to be reliving it. " Then that horse," he laughed, " that horse, jumped right in front of him and knocked him out with one blow."  
  
"Hoirse?" I asked. He laughed.  
  
"Dancer. Never would have thought it, never in my life. That horse of yours saved your life, Racetrack." I smiled. La Tempesta, my horse. I settled back in my pillow, and close my eyes, meaning only to blink, but I quickly fell asleep, worn out from everything.  
  
When next I awoke, I saw only a doctor peering down at me. I groaned, closing my eyes again.  
  
"I don't think so, Mr. Higgins. We need to give you your medicine. You want to get better for your girl, don't you?" I frowned.  
  
"Goil?"  
  
"That girl with red hair, she hasn't left your room since she and that rabble of boys entered. I insisted she and that tall boy get some rest before they wear themselves out."  
  
"Jack and Vicky? Where is dey? An' where's da newsies?" he smiled.  
  
"They went home, I ordered them. You've been sleeping for almost a week since they brought you in here." I stared at him.  
  
"A week!" I sat up quickly, throwing the covers back and beginning to climb out of bed one handed. He quickly pushed me back but I struggled against him.  
  
"Mr. Higgins, get back into bed this instant!" I shook my head.  
  
"A week? I'se gotta woik!" he pushed me back again.  
  
"Work can wait."  
  
"No, it can't! I can't afford ta rest! I'se gotta woik!" As the doctor struggled with me, a deep voice broke through to my troubled mind.  
  
" There is no need to get up, Racetrack. Your job is safe and sound and waiting for you." I stared as McKenna entered the room, looking as tall and proud as anything. I stared at him, not having seen him since I fled that night that seemed so long ago.  
  
He approached the bed and the doctor let me go, before pulling the covers up to my chest once again. I swallowed hard, as he left, leaving the two of us alone.  
  
"Look, Mr. McKenna, about da fira, I-"  
  
"I know." He waved his hand. "Jake spoke to me, as did your friends."  
  
"Me friends?" He nodded.  
  
"The tall boy, Jack? And the reporter, threatened to write a story in the papers about your false accusation. Which, to tell you the truth, I was not aware of." I stared at him.  
  
" Whudda ya sayin', sia?" He sighed.  
  
"I'm saying, I'm sorry, Racetrack." He smiled at me from under the huge mustache. "No one told me what he was doing, and nephew or no nephew, no one stirs up trouble between my workers. You're good, kid, and I'd hate to lose you. Now about that fire,"  
  
"No one wus hoit, right?" he nodded.  
  
"Toby came into my office the day after. Claimed he'd seen my nephew sneaking around the stalls that night, while you had fallen asleep in the stall." He paused, watching me.  
  
"He also told me about a brave young man, who risked his life for the horses, not once but five times, getting each and every horse out of it's stall, despite fire and smoke. And I think that boy deserves a reward, don't you?" I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.  
  
"I suppose so, sia. Even dough he wus jist doin' whut came naturally." He nodded.  
  
"How much money do you have saved up, Race?" I shrugged, then winced as I remembered my arm.  
  
"Forty, maybe fifty bucks." He nodded.  
  
"You rest and recover. Do not come back until you are fit as a fiddle and better. Then we'll talk." And with that he was gone. I settled back, things were defiantly looking up.  
  
I left the hospital two days later, and spent the next week and a half confined to my bunk. Jack refused to let me out until I was stronger, and he employed Kloppman to check on me, to make sure I stayed in bed and did not tire myself out. The boys came home every night with stories to entertain me and played endless hands of poker, blackjack, and other games. They brought me food and we laughed for hours, so much that I often forgot about my arm and tried to do something, like climb into an upper bunk, before I realized it, and then I received a lecture form Jack and another from Victoria. Medda even came to visit me several times.  
  
Victoria came as much as she could, almost every day, when I was all alone. She always brought me something, like a book or something to eat.  
  
The first time she came, she brought a book and told me I could read it when I got bored. I took it and frowned over it, trying to understand the long complicated words, before she asked me plain out, if I could read. I told her, yes, but not well. Then she took the book from me, opened it, and began to read.  
  
It was the story of Oliver Twist, a poor orphan on the streets of London. I instantly fell in love with it and waited impatiently for the next day when she finished the tale. After that, she brought a new story every day and read it to me. There were classics, romances, comedies, tragedies, every kind of story and more. For the first time in my life, I fell in love with literature. And for the first time, I realized how much larger the world was than my little life on the streets on Manhattan.  
  
Sometimes, I would tell her stories, stories of adventures in the streets, of humorous encounters, and close calls. She loved them as much as I loved the world she opened up to me.  
  
"You should be a writer, Race." She told me. " You should tell your story, people would listen." I shook it off then, but as you can see, I did follow her advice one day.  
  
It was almost two weeks after I was released that I made my way into the barn at the races. When I did, a loud cheer erupted from the stable hands, jockeys, and trainers. I noticed several new ones, and that the old ones who had tormented me were gone. I smiled and made my way to La Tempesta's stall. He greeted me with a loud nicker and a rough shoulder nudge. I gave him an apple and he seemed thrilled to see me. I resumed my place and for the first time since I'd begun to work there, I felt at ease.  
  
My life resumed it's previous routine. I got up, bought my papes, took them to the tracks, sold them, and entered the stables, this time greeted by old Toby and a smile. I always saved a pape for him, my own silent way of thanking him. Yes, all always the same accept one thing.  
  
Victoria. She was my life, my whole world. Every night we would meet at Tibby's along with Jack and Sarah and the other newsies, order our dinner, laughing, and talking. Sometimes, we'd head over to Medda's and she'd entertain us for free, taking us backstage and feeding us more. Victoria looked more and more beautiful every time I saw her.  
  
I don't know what she told her parents, slipping out and coming home late, but she never said a word to me. She and Sarah became close friends and we ate over there many times. She helped Sarah prepare for that big day that was quickly approaching. Jack and Sarah's wedding day.  
  
I remember that morning, waking up in the lodging house, just like any other morning, dragging Jack out of bed and washing ourselves up. No one was working that morning, so we each were able to take a shower and clean ourselves up. Skittery and I had just had an argument about a towel, when I saw Jack gazing sadly at us. I dried my face and walked over to him.  
  
"Sumtin wrong, Jack?" he shook his head.  
  
"I jist realized dat dis is me last morning 'era. Dat I'll neva see dis again." I realized it too and swallowed the lump in my throat.  
  
"Ah, you'll be 'era all da time. It ain't like youse dyin' or nuttin'. Youse jist moving out. Specs did a month ago, and so did Snaps." I told him. He nodded, still lost in his thoughts.  
  
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly and when we entered the church, Jack and I both dressed in borrowed suits from Medda and David's father, the world suddenly became much much smaller.  
  
I stood beside Jack as the music played gazing at our friends in the audience, David beaming and Les looking very bored. Blink was whispering to the girl he'd been seeing for a few months, and she was smiling. Mush was just beaming, as he always was. Spot was smiling approvingly in that smug way he always had. The cane always at his side made him look classy today. Sarah's mother was crying already, and smiling at the same time.  
  
As the music began, I watched as Victoria led the procession, as a bride's maid. She looked just as stunning as Sarah, I thought and smiled at me as she took her place. Sarah entered on her father's arm, and made her way up to Jack. He took her hand and they stared into each other's eyes for a few long moments. Watching them, I knew the feeling all too well.  
  
They said their I dos, and we cheered. That night, I sat on the roof, the place Jack and I had shared so many laughs, so many hard conversations, the place we had become friends. I sat up there, with my cigar, a present from Jack, all alone. 


	8. To love or to loose?

Chapter eight  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Two months passed, and I made it a habit to stop by the apartment almost everyday on my way home. Jack wasn't always there, but Sarah was more than willing to talk to me and we bonded as well. When Jack was there, we often went down to Tibbys and it was almost like old times, before Jack realized he had a wife to go home to.  
  
He was happy. He had a stable job, a beautiful wife, and a home, something none of us had ever had before. And I envied him for it.  
  
As much as it hurt, I realized one day, as I sat beside Victoria on the docks, that I could never marry her. Her parents would never allow it. It hurt, much more than anything, much more than getting shot, or kicked.  
  
But Victoria seemed to think of it around the same time. As the days passed, she began to get distant, almost cold. It hurt, when I tried to kiss her and she turned her head. She stopped coming by the lodging house and I saw her only rarely.  
  
One day, I was passing a jewelry shop on the way home, grinning as I fingered my pay from the previous two weeks, thirty whole dollars! I happened to glance in the window and was struck by a simple diamond ring in the window. It was small; in the shape of something I recognized as the wedding ring my father had given my mother, a claddagh, two hands holding a crowned heart. The heart was a diamond and sparkled like Victoria's eyes. Before I knew it, I was inside.  
  
The lady behind the counter looked at me strangely when I asked the price of the claddagh ring in the window. But she told me.  
  
My spirits fell as the words left her lips. Fifty dollars. I thought quickly. My hands slipped into my pocket and I fingered the gold watch my mother gave me. An idea began to form and I bit my lip, unsure.  
  
Slowly, I drew the watch out and laid it on the counter. "Can ya tell me, whut's it woith?" She looked at me as if I was mad, but she took the watch. It was in perfect condition, I kept it polished and timed. There were no scratches, not even one.  
  
"Probably twenty." She told me. I swallowed hard, glancing at the ring, thinking about how it would sparkle on Victoria's finger and how her eyes would sparkle more than the diamond. I slid the watch towards her.  
  
"Can I sell it 'era?" She nodded. I close my eyes and laid my thirty dollars on the counter. She took it and the watch, giving me a long look.  
  
"Are you sure?" I nodded, begging her to take it before I changed my mind. I heard the rustle of paper, and the ring of the register, and then a small bag was pressed into my hands. I glanced at the woman who smiled at me for the first time.  
  
"I hope the woman you love likes it as much as you love her." I nodded, and left quickly. I slipped the bag into my pocket and hurried home, broke as usual, but feeling as if I'd won the world.  
  
Not too long after, I stopped at Jacks on the way home and found Victoria, almost in tears, with Jack and Sarah comforted her. The moment she saw me, she flew out the door, forgetting her shawl. Jack glared at me and I shook my head. He grabbed me and dragged me out the door.  
  
"Race, whud's wrong widcha? Youse losin' da best ting dat eva happened ta ya!" I shook my head.  
  
" I dunno, Jack. She's changed, she's distant. I can't talk ta her no mora." Jack shook his head.  
  
"Go afta her, befora ya loose her, ya bum." With that, he tossed me her shawl and all but threw me out. I hurried down the hall, but she was nowhere in sight. Slowly, I walked across Central Park and to her house. A light was on where her room was, so I tossed a loose stone up. I hit against the window, and she opened it. She seemed surprised to see me.  
  
"Race! What are you doing?" she whispered, angrily it seemed.  
  
"Ya fergot yer shawl at Jack's." I told her, holding it up. She bit her lip and glanced behind her. She seemed to be debating something. Then she looked down.  
  
"Wait there, but don't make a sound." Then she vanished. I ducked behind the steps, near the kitchen, frowning, and lighting a cigarette. The door opened a few moments later and she stepped down. I handed her the shawl and she took it, our hands lingering slightly. She looked into my eyes and I saw confusion. I let out a long sigh and I took her hand. She let me pull her closer.  
  
"Whut's wrong, Vicky?" I asked her. "Ya can tell me." she glanced at the ground. I titled her chin up to look at me. "Please tell me."  
  
It was her turn to sigh, and it broke my heart. I put my hands in my pocket and was surprised to feel the small brown bag. I pulled it out and she looked at it, confused. I opened it and pulled out a small box. To my astonishment, a small object wrapped in brown paper also fell out. I tucked it away, confused, but held out the box.  
  
She took it and stared at it, shocked.  
  
"I know I'd be hard." I whispered, "But I love ya. I don't wanna lose ya. Please, marry me?" I whispered the words, and it took all my will power just to do that. She said nothing, opening the box and staring in astonishment at the small diamond glittering there.  
  
"Race, where did you get this?" she asked, breathlessly. I shrugged.  
  
"Sold sumdin'." She frowned and then glanced at my pocket where my watch chain usually hung. She gazed up at me.  
  
"Oh, Race, you sold your mother's watch?" I shrugged again, forcing myself to believe it was for the best.  
  
"Youse woith it." I told her.  
  
"But that was your prized possession! You sold it for me?" I nodded. "Race, I, I don't know what to say." She whispered. I saw her eyes begin to sparkle again and the corners of her mouth turned up a bit as she pulled it out and looked at it. I took it from her and slipped it onto her finger.  
  
"Say yes." I could barely hear my own voice. She opened her mouth, but her father's voice beat her to it.  
  
"Victoria, what is this?" he growled. We spun around to see him, glaring at us, furious. I took her hand.  
  
"You remember Racetrack, Papa." She said, coolly. It did not work; he grabbed her hand and wrenched her from me, dragging her inside. I stood there, unmoving for an instant. And then I was bounding after her. She tore out of her father's grip, and grabbed my hand, dragging me inside the doorway. The door slammed shut and we held onto each other.  
  
"Jonathon, what is all that racket?" I groaned inwardly. Her mother entered the hall from the study where I'd warmed myself so long ago. She took one look at us and flew into a rage, trying to take my Victoria away from me. She would not let go and neither would I.  
  
"Victoria! What is this?" She screamed. Victoria drew herself up to her full height and glared.  
  
"This is Racetrack. He loves me and I love him. And we're going to get married." she held up the ring on her finger. This had to be her parent's worst nightmare, for not a sound was spoken. They stared at us, horrified. But the silence could not last for long.  
  
"What are you thinking? Are you mad, child?" her father yelled.  
  
"You said he was a good boy!" she yelled back, "You said you wouldn't be surprised if he makes something of himself! You said you liked him!"  
  
"He is not the type of man who can support you! He cannot provide you with a secure future, or the luxuries you are accustomed to! He'll never be what you want him to be!" Her mother screamed. Victoria looked more and more furious.  
  
"Yes he will! He's got a stable job training horses! And he's got a place to stay." I glanced at her, wondering if she meant the lodging house. " Besides, a baby must have a father." Now there was silence. My mouth dropped as I stared at her. She turned to look at me and I couldn't help grinning.  
  
Then her mother shook her head. "Get your things and get out." Her voice was quiet and deadly.  
  
"Mama," she began, but her mother cut her off.  
  
"I have no daughter." The simple words cut my Vicky deep, I could see that. She stood, unmoving, about to cry. But she lifted her chin and walked slowly up the stairs.  
  
I was left alone in the hall as her father stormed up the stairs, and her mother fled the hall. I swallowed hard and waited until she came downstairs, carrying a pillowcase full of items and clothes.  
  
I took her hand and we slipped out the door. Neither of us spoke until we'd reached Central Park.  
  
"Did ya mean it?" I asked. She turned to look at me.  
  
"Mean what?"  
  
"Are ya-?" I inclined my head. She smiled.  
  
"Remember that night under the pier?" I nodded, realization slowly dawning. With it came a silly grin that made her laugh. I pulled her in for a long deep kiss.  
  
Kloppman did not say a word when I brought Victoria inside. He only made up one of the spare beds for her and left us to ourselves. Victoria cried herself to sleep that night. All I could do was hug her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. I fell asleep, still by her side.  
  
I awoke the next morning and quietly slipped back into the bunkroom to get dressed and showered. Blink saw me coming out of the spare room and when I told him what happened, he frowned.  
  
"Is she alright?" I nodded.  
  
"Do me a fava, Blink. Go get Sarah." He nodded and was gone. Sarah arrived and took Victoria home while I went to work.  
  
That day I was called into McKenna's office. He was seated at his desk and I felt misplaced, in my dirty clothes, smelling like horses.  
  
"Racetrack." He began, getting up and pacing the room. I wrung my hat in my hands hoping that nothing was wrong. " You've been training Dancer, almost four months now." I nodded. "And in those four months, I have seen a definite improvement in his character. However," I winced, here it comes, I thought.  
  
"However, he is still very skitterish when it comes to letting others ride him, a necessary for running races. The jockey can't even get on him. Yet, he let you ride him that first day, didn't he?" I nodded, wondering where he was going with this.  
  
"Do you know why that is?" I shook my head.  
  
" I dunno, He always lets me do whuteva I want wid him. At foist, he was scared, and stuff, but now he ain't."  
  
"This I can see. That horse, that horse." He mumbled, smiling and puffing his cigar. " That is the reason I wish to speak to you. How long have you been going to these races, kid?" I thought for a second.  
  
"Me Pop took me when I wus foua. Been going almost every day I can since." I told him. he laughed.  
  
"Four? Well, you deserve your name, Racetrack." I smiled. " Your mother must have been able to read the stars." I smiled.  
  
"Dat ain't me real name. But it's as good as. Nobody calls me whut she did anymora." He smiled, sitting down.  
  
"And what was that?" I licked my lips, frowning. I hadn't told anyone my real name in so long. Not even Victoria knew it.  
  
"Anthony." I said, after a bit. He frowned, studying me. then he smiled once again.  
  
"Racetrack suits you." I nodded, smiling again. "Now to business." He got up once again and put his arm around my shoulders, directing me to the window that looked over the races.  
  
"Tell me, Racetrack, have you ever seen yourself down there, racing with those men?" I shook my head.  
  
"Nah, I'd like it, but it ain't going to happen. I don't imagine whut I know ain't true." I told him.  
  
"Spoken like a true New Yorker," he said, watching the men racing. "But sometimes, unexpected things happen. Racetrack," he said, truing me to face him. "You are the only one who can control Dancer, the only one who can ride him. I want you to run him in the races next Saturday." I stared at him, unmoving, unsure of my ears. He was grinning, but I was shocked.  
  
He wanted me, a street kid, a newsie, to run his prize horse? It was too good to be true. You see, good things don't happen to people like me. They happen to good people, to rich people. They don't happen to street rats like me. All my life, the best thing I'd ever hoped for, was to marry a woman I loved, punch out a couple of kids, and find a decent job that paid enough to live off of. Never anything like this. Never. But I am smart. Being on the streets taught me enough to know you don't question blessings, you just take them and hope for the best. In the past twenty-four hours, I had become a husband, a father, and now, I had a job! A real hard paying job!  
  
"Well?" he asked. Slowly, so very slowly, I nodded. He beamed and held out his hand. I took it, smiling dazily.  
  
When I stumbled back into the barn, I ignored the questions of my friends, and wandered into La Tempesta's stall. I began to brush him, all the while whispering in his ear.  
  
"We'se gonna be racing next week. It'll be fun, I promise." He neighed and tossed his head and I laughed. 


	9. Married life is not bliss

Chapter nine  
  
Hi! Here's the ninth part in the story. Another two more chapters and this one will be over. But I'm working on another story that deals mainly with Race and Vinnie, who you'll meet in the next chapter, in WW1. I'm almost done, only one or two more parts left in that one. And I want to finish All Quiet On The Western Front. Great book. If anyone hasn't read it, they should right now. It's soooooo good. But I have to go now, evil homework must be done.  
  
Read and Review!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That night I made my way to Jack's, and found Sarah and Victoria seated at the kitchen table, smiling gently at each other. Sarah was getting far along too, and I heard them discussing names. I cleared my throat and Victoria threw her arms around me, grinning.  
  
"Oh Race," she whispered. "You'll never believe it." I frowned.  
  
"Whut?" she reached into the jacket, my jacket, still wrapped around her shoulders and pulled out the small brown paper bag her ring had come in. She pulled out something small and wrapped and handed it to me. I unwrapped it and to my surprise, out tumbled my gold watch! I popped open the lid and saw a small folded piece of paper.  
  
Unfolding it, I saw lacy writing. I frowned, trying to make sense of it, but failed. Vicky laughed and took it from me.  
  
"It is a rare young man who would give up such a valuable item for the one he loves. Consider it a wedding gift." She smiled. And now, so did I, the woman at the shop. I shook my head. Could this day get any better? I threw my arms around Victoria and proceeded to tell her about my new job. Sarah listened, with a huge smile on her face before offering me dinner. I refused to pass up such a great offer and we were all seated around the table, when Jack came home, lugging the giant camera behind him. Victoria and didn't notice him at first.  
  
She was seated on my lap and had pressed my hand against her still small belly. I was trying to imagine a baby in there, my baby. With my eyes and her hair, her sense of justice and my gambling ability. Our child.  
  
Our thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flash, and a loud laugh. Jack peered out from behind the camera, laughing at our shock. I growled and shook my fist at him, before we spit shook.  
  
"And how's our new couple taday?" he asked. We grinned, and I told him about my new job. He laughed.  
  
"I'm suposedta photograph dat day! Yer boss musta called mine and told him." we laughed harder. Jack sat down to dinner and everything seemed so perfect. During the course of the dinner, Jack brought up an interesting topic to Sarah.  
  
"Hey, dahlin' guess whut?"  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"Dat apartment above us? It's empty. Dey left yestaday." She frowned.  
  
"I was wondering why I hadn't heard any fights." He laughed.  
  
"And it's up fer rent. Only toity cents, with a dollar deposit." I glanced at him and he had his eyebrow raised, exactly the way he would if he was trying to make a point. I said nothing, eating my food, but the wheels in my mind began to turn.  
  
That night, I was decided that Victoria would stay at Jacks and Sarah's until we got a place. I made my way back to the lodging house and entertained myself in a small game of poker, before deciding that tomorrow, would be my last day as a newsie.  
  
I told Blink and Mush that night and they seemed hard pressed not to cry. I knew Mush's days were numbered. He had a girl on the side and had asked me about jobs at the stables several times. I gave him the name of Jake, knowing he'd give him a job. Blink wasn't too far behind us, the manager at Tibby's had taken a liking to him and offered him a job there. Blink had decided to take it.  
  
That night, as we had with Jack, Specs, Snaps, and Skittery, we stayed up late, joking, and playing games. Kloppman did not say a word, but let us do as we wished.  
  
The next morning, I grinned at Weasel as I bought two hundred papes, and paid for every one. Morris Delancy looked horrified are having to count out two hundred papes, but I only grinned and lit a cigar.  
  
That day, I carried my papes and stood at the entrance to the races, hawkin' the headlines as loud as I could. Many men looked surprised to see me and told me so. But I sold my papes as I never had before. I put my heart and soul into every word that day. It was my last as a newsie.  
  
That night, I made my way into Jack and Sarah's building, but I did not go to their place. I went to the manager's office. He was a big Irish man, who seemed gruff, but smiled when I said I needed a place for my young pregnant wife and I to live.  
  
He showed me the apartment, two rooms. A bigger multipurpose room that houses a small kitchen, stove and sink, and a table. A smaller bedroom was off to the side. I was relieved to see that it already housed a small bed. More than enough room for two young people. I paid the deposit and smiled as I closed to door to my own apartment.  
  
The next morning, I was awakened by Blink jumping on me, telling me that if I didn't hurry, I'd be late for my own wedding. I was out of bed in a flash and in the showers.  
  
We had decided a quiet wedding at City Hall was best. Though, if you have thirty newsies cramped into a small space, it is hardly quiet. Even Spot came up from Brooklyn as he had for Jack.  
  
I was nervous, more nervous than I had ever been in my whole life, even that time I'd bet with Big Johnny Paparlli. I paced the alter before Jack had to hold me in place.  
  
"Yer takin' da biggest gamble eva Race, youse gots a right ta be neoivus." But the instant Victoria walked down the isle, clothed in a barrowed white dress, everything seemed to still. I took her hand and we said our I dos. I have never been happier than the moment the judge asked, " Do you take this man, to be your lawfully wedded husband, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live," and she said yes.  
  
That night was full of celebrating. Medda opened her hall to us and we spent a glorious evening, singing, dancing, and having a grand old time. But soon, it was time for the bride and groom to retire and I took Victoria home.  
  
When I pushed open the door and showed her the apartment, she paused. She was looking around it and I wondered if she regretted any of it. I twirled a curl of her hair in my fingers.  
  
"Ya ain't regrettin' nuttin?" she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.  
  
"Never. I'm just thinking about a time when I was eight years old." I led her inside and we sat at the small table. "I was with my best friend at the time, and we planned out our whole lives. I was just thinking about how only one of my dreams came true. But it was the one I wanted the most."  
  
"Which one is dat?" I asked her. She smiled at me.  
  
"To marry the man I love." With that I kissed her passionately and she kissed back.  
  
"I'm glad 'a dat, Mrs. Higgins." I whispered, just to hear the name. She giggled.  
  
" I like the sound of that. Mrs. Higgins." And then she pulled me closer. My heart felt as if it were about to burst, for all the love I had for my dainty little wife. I pulled her close to in my arms and let the joy surround me, forgetting everything.  
  
The next week passed quickly, more quickly than I could have imagined. I was out the door every morning before sunrise and in the stables by the time the sun breeched the rooftops.  
  
I felt bad leaving Vicky, but what could I do? It was impossible to take her anywhere for a honeymoon. I had not the money, nor the time. I feel she understood this, but she still hurt. I did my best, taking her out on the small allowances my pay could afford, and sometimes making dinner, after we found out that first night, that she was hopeless at cooking and cleaning. I had to wear the same vest for almost a week before she washed my second one. She had several skirts, blouses and other items of clothes, while all I had at the time, was one pair of trousers, and suspenders, two shirts, one for nice occasions, and two vests which I wore alternatively. That was my entire wardrobe at the time and had been for some time now.  
  
But back to the races. The morning of the races dawned gray and misty. I climbed out of bed, and roused Vicky who mumbled and rolled over before gazing at me.  
  
"Today's the big day?" I nodded. Then she kissed me and shooed me off. "Then be off, I'll meet you there and cheer you on." I smiled.  
  
"Love ya, doll.' She giggled.  
  
"I love you too, Race. Now get going."  
  
That morning, I must have brushed La Tempesta five or six times before I was satisfied. Still I felt nervous and paced the stall. Jake saw me and laughed. He took me aside and gave me a few words of wisdom.  
  
"Just relax, Race. Dancer will do fine if you let him do what comes naturally. Don't push him. You know that." I nodded and then suddenly, it was time.  
  
I slowly made my way into the track, leading La Tempesta, who seemed just as nervous as I. " It's alright, ' I whispered, " I ain't lettin' nobody but me ride ya. It's just like in the barn." He shook his head and gave a loud neigh. I grinned and petted him, handing him a carrot.  
  
"And dere'll be anouda afta." I told him. "And a suga cube if ya win." This time, he tossed his head and I laughed.  
  
I slipped onto him, just in time to hear my name. The announcer was calling the names of the jockeys and he had just called mine. A dull roar came from the section of the stands to the right and I grinned as I saw all the newsies, Jack, Sarah, Vicky, and even Spot cheering me on. I gave them a wave, just as they started to countdown.  
  
"Dis is it boy." I whispered and held on tight. The tension was thick, I could sense the others glaring at me, just as the gun blew. Then they were off!  
  
But La Tempesta had been startled by the loud shot and he reared into the air. I almost fell off then, but hung on.  
  
"Whoa boy!" I shouted, calming him and kicking him in the rear. Then he took off. Things were a blur as we whizzed down the track, passing startled jockeys right and left. I could only hang on tight and let him do the rest. He was prefect, saving his speed for the last and final lap, before bursting into a sudden blast of speed that sends us flying over the finish line.  
  
I could hardly get him to stop, before I could climb off. My heart was pumping and my breathe ragging, the ride had been the most exhilarating of my life and I felt dazed, and crazy, with a new sense of power and the feeling that I could now do anything.  
  
The instant I was off the horse, I was swamped by journalists, bookies the judges, McKenna, Jake, and all my friends. But it paid them little attention as Vicky pushed her way through to me and leaped into my arms. I kissed her hard; right there in front of everyone and amid cheers and whoops, I managed to answer a few questions.  
  
Vicky had the article framed, so did Jack. He took the picture of Vicky and me, grinning and waving at the crowd, my faithful steed behind us. It's still hanging on the wall, near our wedding picture, Jack took that one too, and the one of us seated in his apartment that day so long ago. Vinnie loves that one, because he claims it's the first one of him. He's right in a way.  
  
The next few months seemed like a wonderful dream, but for a few instances. It must have been hard for Vicky to go from having several servants at her beck and call to having to do her own laundry and that of her husband as well, to making her own dinner and having it out for me when I came home, tired and exhausted but with three dollars a day in my pockets.  
  
That was a lot then, still is. But I worked hard for it and I earned every penny. That plus whatever small bets I placed when I wasn't running, pulling twenty- bucks a week! For me, I was rich! Richer than I'd ever been.  
  
Now, don't' get me wrong. Our marriage was not prefect. She had a stubborn temper too and would be furious if I came home late or skipped a meal without telling her. We had our share of fights, which sometimes resulted in me storming out the door and spending the night on Jack's sofa.  
  
As her delivery date drew nearer, Vicky became more and more crabby. But Jack told me Sarah had been the same way before delivering their first baby who had been born in the late summer, Anthony David Kelly, who Mush had already dubbed Snickers, from the way he laughed. Sarah wasn't too happy, but Jack was overjoyed and would bounce the baby Snickers up and down on his knee, trying to get him to laugh.  
  
Jack was making good money, better than me, enough to move out of that apartment house, but he didn't.  
  
"Where would I go?" he asked me. "Me family's 'era."  
  
But no matter how much Vicky and I fought, we would be back in each other's arms the next night. She seemed so happy the choice she had made, and I did my best to help her, sometimes bringing her little surprises.  
  
But we had some close calls when it came to her parents. I remember one day, we were walking in the park. She was in her seventh month and had a terrible craving for Central Park hot dogs. It was a warm day so we set out, walking close, arms linked and whispering to each other, noticing no one but each other, when suddenly, a cry broke through to our private little world.  
  
"Victoria!" she spun around and was attacked by a small blur of energy. I laughed when her little brother poked his head out from the folds of her skirts.  
  
"Victoria, where have you been? Mother and father won't tell me and I thought you were dead." She shook her head.  
  
"No, dear, not at all. I'm married, Tommy. This is my husband. You remember Racetrack?" I grinned.  
  
"Hey kid." He laughed and darted off. We frowned after him, but Vicky's face soon wore a look of horror as Tommy dragged his parents down the path only to face us. I took her arm and we began to back away slowly. No one said a word, until her father cleared his throat.  
  
"Hello, Victoria." She nodded.  
  
"Father." He did not acknowledge me and I was grateful for it. But her mother glared at me and my state of dress. I was wearing my suspenders pulled off, and my shirtsleeve rolled up to my elbows, it was a warm day, and my top two shirt buttons undone. Vicky wore her hair down and was in a simple skirt and blouse that stretched out to reveal her condition. Her mother gazed at her as if she were something under her shoe. I winced, being used to that look, but knowing she was not.  
  
"And how are you?" her father asked.  
  
"Very well, father. We are very happy." She placed a protective hand over her belly and I slid my arms around her waist. The silence was thick and I hated it.  
  
"Come on, doll." I said softly, "Let's grab a bite. Jack's expectin' us lata." And I steered her away. But before we had taken five steps, a sharp voice stopped us. Her mother hurried to us and dragged her away form me, leading her to the side path and speaking in a low hurried voice. I did not like the look of it as Vicky's eyes widened then narrowed. Then she began speaking in the same low voice, running her hand over her swollen belly. Then she turned to walk back when her mother caught her arm. As Vicky pulled closer, I heard what was being said.  
  
"This is your last chance, Victoria. If you walk away today, that door will be closed forever. Then what will you do when he pours all your hard earned money away in drink, or when he beats you, when he leaves you with four children to care for. Then what will you do?" Vicky glared at her, then glanced at me and realized I'd heard. She marched up to me and slipped her arm under my shoulders and I pulled her close.  
  
"That will never happen. Race does not drink, he does not hit me, and he will never leave me. Right?" She looked at me, begging me to reinforce her opinion. I nodded forcefully.  
  
"Vicky's me wife. I love her." Her mother glared at me as if I were speaking out of turn.  
  
"I've seen this, Victoria. He'll leave you flat, trust me." I took Vicky's hand and led her away forcefully. Neither of us looked back until we'd rounded the corner and put it behind us. I bought her a hotdog and by the time we headed for home, the incident was forgotten. 


	10. The end of a dream

Chapter ten  
  
Tenth installment! Oh and those of you that have come to really like Victoria are going to get quite a surprise in this part. Well, it's late and I have three tests tomorrow. Is it just me or do all teachers somehow manage to assign tests all on the same day? Well, off to study, and then bed.  
  
Night! Read and Review!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
As the time of her confinement drew nearer, I spent more time at home, helping her with the various chores and such. We discussed all kind of names from Jennifer to Delilah, Thomas to Vincenzo, my personal favorite, my grandfather's name.  
  
On November 6, 1901, Vincenzo Jack Higgins was born at 3:18 AM. He looked exactly like me, with black hair and dark eyes. He had twinkling brown eyes that seemed to take in everything around him.  
  
Jack almost laughed himself to death when he came over and found Vinnie with my cards, not chewing on them, but holding them, studying them with the most serious expression on his face, as if he were in a high stakes poker game.  
  
Then and there my little two-month-old son received his newsie nick, Cards. And I loved it. Vicky would shake her head when I took out the card pack and shuffle it with Vinnie on my lap. He would clap and giggle at the rustling cards and I often did it if he couldn't sleep. He loved cards.  
  
I took him to the track and he was an instant hit. He loved to see the big horses, especially La Tempesta. I insisted on speaking Italian to my children, even if Vicky did not understand what I was saying. She picked up enough over the years to be decent, but never fluent.  
  
One year later, on June 2, 1903 during the late afternoon, along came our first daughter, who we instantly named Marina, as she looked so much like my mother, black eyes and everything. Ma always told me I have my grandfather's eyes.  
  
One day, Blink and Davy and their girls took our kids for a day when I had to run and to give Vicky a break. They took them down to Brooklyn and my little girl fell in love with the large Hudson Bay, the sea waves crashing against the docks. It was right that she be named for the sea. They named her Waves.  
  
It may seem like we had the prefect marriage, but we didn't. I remember one incident which almost ruined us. It was perhaps the third year of our marriage. Vinnie was three, Marinna, only a year and Vicky was carrying our third.  
  
It was after a big run in which I had come in first place and won quite a lot of money. I always went out with the boys afterwards, and Vicky never minded, as long as I came home sober. But this time, for some reason, I stayed out later and got quite drunk. I stumbled home, happy only to find my angry wife waiting for me.  
  
"Where were you?" the words greeted me as I entered. I shrugged and shut the door behind me Vicky frowned, studying me.  
  
"Are you drunk, Race?" I shrugged.  
  
"I ain't had too much, jist a li'l." I said, frowning. She glared. I don't remember why, but we began to argue and it ended with me flying at her in anger and striking her across the face. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember falling asleep in our bed alone.  
  
When I woke up the next morning, I found a note, informing me that Vicky had left and had taken the children with her. I know only one place she would go. Her mothers. My breath came short, as I slumped down and slammed my head against the tabletop.  
  
Idiot! I told myself as I crushed the letter in my hand. I had done the very thing I had sworn never to do. If this continued, I'd be on my way to becoming one of those men, the men I had promised Vicky I'd never be.  
  
I grabbed my coat and hitched a ride on the back of a cart until I'd reached Uptown. There I bounded up the steps and pounded on the door. Some stiff answered the door and informed me with a cold voice that deliveries were around back. But my eyes caught on the hat sitting on the hall table, the same hat I'd given to my son the day before. I shoved my way inside and burst into the study where I heard voices.  
  
I saw Vicky, with little Marina on her lap, surrounded by a group of woman, both young and old. There must have been four or five and her mother was among them. Vinnie was in the corner shuffling cards, but looked up when I burst in and ran headlong for me.  
  
"Papa!" he screamed and wrapped himself around my legs. I grabbed him and held him tight. I did not want to let him go. I was not letting him go.  
  
"Race!" Vicky's voice was startled as I approached her. I winced as I saw the purple mark on her cheek.  
  
"What are you doing? How dare you come here, after what you've done?" her mother yelled. But I ignored her. Instead I swallowed my pride and knelt in front of my little wife.  
  
"Pa!" Marina cried, reaching out for me. Vicky held the squirming child back from my grasp.  
  
"What do you want, Race?" she asked coldly. I couldn't stand her using that voice with me. I closed my eyes and then opened them again, begging her to look at me. She did not.  
  
"Vicky," I whispered. "Doll, please. I'm so sorry." She glanced at me, but turned away. I shook my head.  
  
"Look, dahlin'" I said, " I didn't mean it. Ya know dat. It wus a mistake, a mistake I ain't makin' again. Please, come home?"  
  
"How do I know that, Race? How do I know this isn't the beginning? How do I know you aren't like all the rest?"  
  
"Cause, I ain't. I won't let meself be like da rest. I'se gonna be a good husband fer youse and a good fadda. Youse and me, we'se gonna raise dese kids tagedda, memba?" She glanced at me, the cold look warming just a bit.  
  
"Please," I whispered, desperate, " I can't lose ya. I love ya." She smiled gently and took my hand.  
  
"You promise?" I nodded.  
  
"Wid all me heart." I whispered the words so only she could hear. A slow smile lit up her face and she pulled me to my feet. I barely remembered the other people in the room as she handed me my daughter. I held her close as she called my name and patted the head of my small son bouncing next to me. I thanked God for the second chance. I took her hand and began to lead her out the door when her mother gave a shriek.  
  
"What about what you said last night? How I was right, and you were never going back?" Vicky glared at her.  
  
"I was angry and upset. I meant none of it."  
  
"But why are you going back with him when he did that to you?' she pointed to the bruise. I winced and tightened my grip on Vicky's hand and around my daughter. Vinnie cowered behind me, not liking the yelling as Marina hid her face in my shirt.  
  
"Because that's what you do when you're in love. You forgive each other. Come on Race," she led me out the door, pausing to gab my cap and slap it on Vinnie's head. The door slammed behind us and we were a family once again.  
  
It didn't happen again. I made sure of it. I kept my promise and Vicky had no cause to complain. We had each other and that was enough.  
  
I was now a recognized jockey, spending many hours at the tracks, training and winning. La Tempesta was a brilliant horse, fast and skilled. He soon got over his fear of the gun and won every race he was in. I loved it. I was racking it in big time. Almost five dollars a day for a while!  
  
That was lucky because my third child and second son, Dino Silas Higgins was born on January 4,1905. He was the first of our children to have Vicky's eyes, but still he had my hair. He adored Jack, and began to follow him everywhere, even when he could only crawl. David jokingly named him Little Cowboy and the name stuck.  
  
From the time he was four, he wanted a rope so he could do tricks, just like the real cowboys.  
  
Life was good in those years, so very good. I forgot that good things never happen to kids like me, and I forgot that happiness could never last forever. I forgot so many things.  
  
But I was happy. My children were growing up straight and tall. They had food in their bellies everyday. They had warm beds to sleep in every night. They went to school and learned the ABC's and 123's. They had so much that I had never had and I loved nothing more than to grab them all up and take them to the candy store on a whim and let them buy as much as they wanted. But I insisted that my children know about the world around them, the world in which their Papa grew up.  
  
They saw heartache and suffering everyday. I would take them down to Brooklyn to visit spot and they would see the suffering there. I would take them to the lodging house to see my friends who were still there and to see Crutchy who now run the place along with old Kloppman.  
  
Yes, life was good, and I forgot the pain and heartache I had known all my life. But Fate was bound to catch up with me some day. My luck had to run out.  
  
In 1908, Vicky was expecting the fourth addition to our growing family. I was expecting the usual, I had been through three before, and expected this one to be no different. But never expect the expected. My luck had to run out and one night in late July, it did.  
  
Vicky struggled for hours during this time. I sent the kids off to the lodging house to be taken care of, and I paced outside the door for almost six hours with Jack, Blink, Mush, and Spot by my side.  
  
When it was all over, Sarah opened the door, carrying a small girl, with her eyes and her hair. But she looked nothing short of devastated. I took the small baby in my arms and looked at her.  
  
"Zaira." I whispered, my princess. Then I turned to look at Jack who was whispering with Sarah. Jack's face was pale and I knew something was wrong. I handed the baby to Spot and made to enter our bedroom. Jack stopped me.  
  
"Race, buddy, ya can't go in dere." I stared at him, knowing something was wrong.  
  
"Why not?" I asked him, pushing past him. He grabbed my shoulders.  
  
"Race, please!" His tone was panicked and I shoved him away, dashing into our room.  
  
It was dark, so very dark and I hated it. I approached the bed and saw my wife, her hair spread out around her head like a halo. Her eyes were closed, those bright clear eyes I loved so much, were closed and I could see that her chest wasn't moving.  
  
I couldn't breathe as I sunk down beside her, grabbing her cold hand and feeling the sobs wrenched from my throat. No one came in and somebody closed the door. I sat in there, sobbing my cold dead wife, by my side.  
  
I lay there for almost a day, before drawing the cover over her face and getting to my feet. I looked at the bed, feeling so lost, before making my way slowly to the door. I found the apartment deserted with a note from Jack that everyone was downstairs. When I made my way downstairs to Jack's, I pushed open the door and saw my three children crowded around the new baby.  
  
"Pop!" Vinnie cried as he launched himself at me. He was an energetic seven years old. I stared at him, and wrapped my arms tightly around him, before drawing six-year-old Marinna and four year old Dino into a tight hug. They did not say a word, but I think, felt I needed this. I held them so tight, trying not to cry again. I had nothing left inside of me anyway.  
  
After a long moment, I let go and led the three of them over to the table. Jack and Sarah had wisely left us, but not before trying pressing my new baby into my arms. I refused to take her, handing her to Jack. I rubbed my temples, knowing I had to tell my children, but finding I had never ever done something this hard. It was as if saying it, telling my children, made it final.  
  
"Kids." I began. They looked up at me, all expectantly. "Come 'era." And I hugged them again,  
  
"Where's Mama?" Dino asked. My heart shattered at the sound of his light little voice. I swallowed hard.  
  
"Is Mama sleepin'?" Vinnie asked, his usual tough guys attitude replaced with childlike fear. I nodded, yes, that was the best way to put it.  
  
"Yeah, Mama's sleepin'" 


	11. I am so many things, and yet I am still ...

Chapter eleven  
  
Here it is! The very last chapter, minus the epilogue! Then this story is done! I'll do all the thanking later and besides, hey didn't I warn you about that last chapter? Eh? * shrugs*  
  
Well, I gots homework, and too much of it. So please read and review and perk me up? Please? * makes puppy eyes*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I buried her next to my parents one warm summer day. I felt as if my heart had died with her. Tears ran down my face as they lowered her into the ground. That night, I sat on our bed, unable to sleep and unwilling. My kids were worn out, exhausted in the other room.  
  
I couldn't stay there, I had to get out. Quietly I made my way out the door, but was unable to avoid waking up Vinnie. I wondered if he was even asleep.  
  
"Pop? Where ya going'?" I knelt beside him and stroked his hair.  
  
"Jist out fer some aia." I whispered soothingly. "I'll be back." He nodded. "Now, go back ta sleep." He laid back and closed his eyes, but I doubted he was sleeping.  
  
I must have walked all the way around Manhattan that night before I found myself in a small bar near the dockside. There I slapped down the few dollars I had and began to forget.  
  
I have no idea how long I was there, or how I got home, but I found myself in bed, a cloth over my eyes with Vinnie beside me, wiping my forehead. The moment I opened my eyes, he began to yell and I winced as his voice made my head pound.  
  
Jack burst in a moment later and smiled at me. I remembered everything and closed my eyes, but lacking the strength to turn away. Jack laid his hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Race. Wake up. Ya haveta get up. Ya gots a job, and kids. Ya gotta take cae a dem." I opened my eyes and stared into Vinnie's upturned face. Then I reached out my arms and he ran into them. I held him close and I began to cry. Once again, tears poured from my eyes and I was not alone. Vinnie's small body was shuddering as he cried too. And soon I felt two more pairs of small arms wrap themselves around us and we all cried together, letting everything out that day.  
  
But that night did not end my mourning. In fact, I remained cold and distant to my friends and kids for so long. And as for the new baby, forget it.  
  
I had never cared for a baby alone in my life and had no clue how to. The day I handed her to Jack was the last time I saw her. I refused to see her, refused to see my dead wife staring at me from those eyes. This child, this innocent baby had killed my Vicky and I wanted nothing to do with her.  
  
It took almost loosing her to realize that Vicky had left me a precious gift that I was taking for granted.  
  
Almost a month afterwards, Vinnie dragged me out of bed, claming that his sister was breathing funny. I thought he meant Marina, but paused when he led me to the makeshift crib. I backed away, not wanting to look but Vinnie forced me forward, desperate that he was going to loose his sister too.  
  
"Pop, make her stop!" he cried. I approached the bed, and heard the funny rasping noise that was coming from the baby's chest. It didn't sound good and slowly I reached over to brush a lock of reddish hair away from her forehead only to feel burning heat.  
  
My paternal instincts took over and I snatched her up, holding her close and ordering Vinnie downstairs for Jack and Sarah. The boy was gone in an instant and back in less than one.  
  
Jack was gone for the doctor and Sarah tried to take the baby but now that I held her, I never wanted to let go. I held her tight, even as the doctor examined her.  
  
He shook his head and told me that the chances were very slim. "Influenza." He told me. I shook my head, knowing of several friends who had never conquered their battled with the deadly disease. He prescribed a medication and keeping her warm.  
  
I spent the next three days, never leaving my baby's side. She was too weak to cry, too weak to do anything but sleep. But as she slept I held her tight, silent tears slipping down my cheek.  
  
But three days without sleep will drain you and one day, I fell asleep. When I awoke, I saw a pair of crystal clear eyes staring up at me. I gazed in amazement at the child who smiled at me. I touched her forehead and found no blazing heat, no red skin. I let out a shaky breath and picked her up, holding her close, as the tears of relief slid down my cheeks. I rocked her slowly and she made not a peep.  
  
"Pop? What's wrong?" Vinnie's small voice asked. I turned to see Vinnie, Marinna and Dino looking at me, horrified, knowing that their new baby sister was "sleeping" as well. I smiled and opened my arms to them, letting them see the smiling baby. My children rushed into my arms and I held on tight, knowing that maybe, just maybe, things would pull through and we would be a family again.  
  
Things were never as easy after that. I quit my job, claiming that I had no more time, and that I had kids to take care of. McKenna was not happy, but he insisted I stay on and continue to train La Tempesta , if not run him. I agreed, even with the wage decrease of almost three dollars.  
  
Vinnie and Marinna decided they wanted to help too and Vinnie made the same choice I had, many years ago. He became a newsie. He already knew many newsies and had the same flare for it, I had. He often took Dino along, and I let him, as long as he did not miss too much school.  
  
I was not aware of it at the time, but Vinnie stopped going to school all together. I did not force him, knowing that an education was important but that he would get a much better one on the streets.  
  
I had vowed I would never let my kids grow up like me and regardless of their mother, I feel I am doing a good job. They're good kids, who know right from wrong, and whom I love with all my heart.  
  
We all moved on. I try my best to keep track of all my friends and it isn't too hard. Most of us have stayed. When we were kids, we wished for bigger and better things, but now we realize that you play the hand that life deals you, whether it be good or bad.  
  
The others moved on as well. Blink soon inherited and ran Tibby's, making it still the favorite hangout of newsies. He met a girl and they got married, maybe three or four years ago. They're happy.  
  
Mush got a job working in one of the museums. He's happy there, making enough to support him and his wife and their small child.  
  
Davy found a job as a reporter, though for a newspaper far out west. We saw him off a year ago, and every now and then, when you least expect it, he'll send a letter. He's promised to come out for the anniversary of the strike.  
  
Every year, we all get together and celebrate our victory. Vinnie loves it and not long ago, he was involved in his own strike. It succeeded to his delight and he now feels like he's done something great. I know the feeling.  
  
Davy's happy. He's met some girl out there and they are planning to get married in a few weeks. Davy wants to come home for it, and I hope he will.  
  
Les is still selling papes and I have a feeling he'll do it as long as he can. The others call him the best, and he is, because he learned from the best.  
  
Boots opened a shoe store down in Midtown and is doing quite well. Skittery owns a small bar down near the docks, and tells us insane stories of the men and woman who come in. Medda still runs her vaudeville hall, and still invites us there every chance we get. Vinnie loves to hear the story of how his father tried to save her life when he was only sixteen.  
  
And Spot? Good old Spot did something none of us had ever expected him to do. You may know him as Samuel Conlon, mayor of New York City.  
  
Jack's fared better than any of us. As his previous status had placed him far below the law, he was allowed to go places no one else was and so get the pictures no one else could. I remember when I was about twenty-one and he twenty-two, he finally got an award for his photographs. And guess which one he submitted. The one of Vicky and me on the day of our engagement.  
  
He could have easily bought one of those big brownstones in upper Manhattan, but he didn't. He was happy right where he was, thank you. He knew the people, the neighborhood, he'd grown up here. And this is where he was going to stay. He, Sarah and their three kids, still live right below us.  
  
I have learned many lessons over my brief twenty-seven years. But I have seen and done more than some people do in ten lifetimes. I am a newsie, a striker, a trainer, a jockey, a father, a husband, a widower, and now an author. So many things, and still I am only Racetrack Higgins.  
  
Life's a game, a game of chance. Some people are dealt a full house and some get no cards at all. But you take what is given to you and make the best of it. And if you don't like the hand you're dealt, then do everything in your power to change it.  
  
You only have one life to live, only one hand to play. So play it right. It's all a game, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but you keep on playing. I plan to keep on playing until my dying breath. 


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
So this is it. The last part. I feel sad! But don't worry, more stories are in the works, including the one I've been hinting about, the WW1 story involving Vinnie, which will be out as soon as my friend can read over it. * Glares at SaraBeth, then gives her a Cadbury egg because she is such a good friend to put up with me all the time.*  
  
Thanks for all the reviews, especially T.H. Your reviews really helped me decide what I liked and didn't like about the story. Go read her stuff! It's good! Thanks again.  
  
  
  
  
  
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Jack Kelly put down the last paper and looked at it, stunned at the power and grace behind the words of a friend he'd known, it seemed, all his life. The words were not eloquent, not elegant, but simple and to the point, making his point in very few words, but carrying it across with both power and hard cold facts. The pages of sloppy writing, scrawled over every available space told a story the world had never heard, had never wanted to hear. It was the story of every newsie, every child of the streets who wanted and deserved so much more than what he was served in life. It was his story, just as much as it was the authors.  
  
Then he got up and made his way out the door to the rooftop. There he saw a dark figure, short in stature, but not in spirit. He had known that before, but never had he been so sure about it.  
  
"Which one's me star, Papa?" A small voice asked. Jack smiled as a small girl with dark curly hair, just like her fathers, and bright crystal clear eyes, just like her mothers, grabbed her father's arm, which held a small baby in it. He listened for his friends answer.  
  
"Take yer pick, kid, ya can have any one ya want so's along as ya reach fer it." The taller boy beside him gave a short laugh, while their father leaned over to pull the smaller boy back from the edge. He smiled. Then he cleared his throat. Racetrack turned around and smiled at has friend.  
  
"Go on down now. It's past yer bedtime, all a ya." He whispered to the little girl by his side.  
  
"But Papa!" Little Marinna whined.  
  
"Pop!" Vinnie cried, unwilling to go inside. Little Dino pouted. But Race shook his head.  
  
"Uncle Jack!" She cried, running towards her much larger "Uncle Jack" Dino was right behind her, wrapping his arms around Jack's legs,  
  
"Please, Uncle Jack, can I stay up widcha? Please?" He smiled at the little girl and boy wrapped around his knees.  
  
"Nah, ya gotta sleep sometime, Waves, youse too Lil' Cowboy. And you, Cards, especially if ya wanna get up and sell tamorroa. Now go on, I'm sure Sarah could tell youse a story before ya go ta bed."  
  
"But she neva tells 'em as good as Papa. And I want one bout da strike!" Vinnie exclaimed. Race laughed.  
  
"Go on, ya little urchins, or youse ain't getting' no story tanight." With that threat, the three of them vanished down the steps, Vinnie carrying his baby sister, and the two old friends were left alone. Race noticed the thick stack of papes Jack held in his hand.  
  
"So?" he asked, flicking his cigar ash away.  
  
"So," Jack began, " it's good." Race glanced at him.  
  
"Good?" Jack nodded.  
  
"Race, well, honestly. I didn't know ya had dis in ya. You'se been holdin' out on us!" Race grinned.  
  
"So ya tink it's good enough?" Jack nodded. "Den I'll take it down ta Denton in da mornin'." Jack smiled.  
  
" Pop! Uncle Jack!" A small shrill voice echoed up the steps pf the apartment building. Jack and Race smiled. Race snuffed his cigar out and tossed it to the ground. Then Jack slapped him on the back and the two wandered inside to tell four small children the story of how they placed all they had on one huge gamble and won.  
  
On April 15, 1909, the first copies of The Game of Life, by R. A. Higgins, hit the stands. It was an instant success. 


End file.
